


Unbreakable

by Merlyn_Pyndragon



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Angst, Armageddon, Blame Game, Bunker, Despair, Gen, Male Deputy - Freeform, Mind Games, Nightmares, Nuclear Apocalypse, Nuclear War, Regret, Sympathy for the Devil, Withdrawal, bliss, breaking point, collapse, devoted vs nonbeliever, his fault, it's not his fault, not his fault, what is the right thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:41:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 40,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23606215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merlyn_Pyndragon/pseuds/Merlyn_Pyndragon
Summary: Epilogue to Far Cry 5: The Collapse came. The world is broken. I should have died but I didn't. I would've welcomed it. There are fates worse than death, and mine is to be stuck down here, at the mercy of Joseph Seed. And no one is coming to save me.
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Don't know why I'm bothering with this. Already posted this clusterduck of "prose" elsewhere and it's not like posting it here is going to make it a better story. But here we are. Here you are. 
> 
> So here goes. Takes place after the events of Far Cry 5. Male Junior Deputy, told in first person POV. Some mild violence (comparatively), coarse language (yo momma know you be reading this?), and only references to sullied sheets, not between these two characters (sorry, pervs). Atheism locks horns with religion (bite me, PC sticklers), aaaaand...yeah. Oh, and I've taken direct lines from FC5 and FC New Dawn. Will be specified per chapter. I take no credit for those. Meant only for context.
> 
> Enough talk. Grab that tea. Grab that chocolate. Grab that cozy blanket, snuggle in that papasan and forget the woes of the world for just a few more minutes...

Part I: Unbreakable

~1~

* * *

Dutch was starting to smell.

The old man remained sprawled, belly-up, where Joseph had left him, the blood sticky on the floor, the ghost of his last breath framing his lips. In the gloom of the bunker, he looked like wax.

The lights flickered. Dutch opened his eyes.

“No one is coming to save you.”

I woke with a start. Sat up so quickly my back seized and the handcuffs cut into my wrists. I forced myself to relax, my world, reduced to the foot of a metal bed, merciless to the urge to move and stretch. Then I looked to where Dutch used to be. Not even a bloodstain remained.

But there was Joseph Seed, sitting with his back to the wall beneath a Peggy flag, staring at me like I was a goddamned Picasso. Fuck, didn't this guy ever _sleep?_ At least he had finally put on a shirt. Even though, of course, it was one of Dutch's.

I said nothing. I stared back. Not with defiance, fear, or loathing, because that would give Joseph some kind of sick satisfaction. No, I stared back as though the hypocritical shit stain were nothing more than a mildly interesting magazine article.

Joseph leaned forwards, elbows on his knees, head slightly cocked. The pale light only caught half his face, but I could make out the broken skin on his nose, the split lip. Courtesy of Deputy Hudson, bless her. But the thought of her curdled my guts, and my marble face budged just enough to make the fanatic before me smile.

The Question was coming. As it had for the past couple days, as it would for many more after.

“Will you pray with me?”

He waited, politely, for an answer he damn-well knew wasn't coming, and for several seconds there was no sound but for the storm raging ten feet above this tin can. Anger overwhelmed the regret in my stomach but I did not let it show. Much harder was resisting the urge to recoil as Joseph did something out of pattern. He stood, strode over and knelt, placing both hands on my shoulders. He pulled me more upright and rested his forehead against mine, closing his eyes. I did not.

Never take your eyes from the enemy, a rule learned during My Time. That's when they get away. That's when they strike.

But Joseph never struck. Hadn't actually hurt me yet. After what his family put me through – John, Jacob, and Faith – I'd expecting this bunker to be my own little hell cell, and Joseph would be the biggest, baddest wolf of all. And yet he had not gouged trespasses into my skin or pumped me full of Bliss to fuck with my mind. He just prayed.

For a moment, I closed my eyes, and thought back two days...

* * *

“ _Attention. Attention. This is the Emergency Broadcast System. Take shelter immediately. Take shelter immediately. This is not a drill. Repeat. This is not a drill._ ”

Foggy with Bliss and shock, it took me several seconds to realize I was on my ass, handcuffed to the metal frame of a bed. Then, confusion. I'd been in this situation before. But instead of cuffs it'd been zip ties. I looked up and saw—

_Dutch?_

No. His back to me, this man was taller, and Dutch didn't wander around without a shirt – or maybe he did, who knew? – and he had dark hair tied back in a dinky little man bun.

Brains were scrambled by the crash, they had to be. Dutch had pulled me from the wreck, as he had done from the river all those months ago, and was now toying with the radio, waiting for me to come to...

A cameo jacket suddenly caught my eye, and I looked over to see the old man spread-eagle on the floor, a trickle of blood oozing from his mouth, into his white goatee. His head was tilted back just enough so I could see his face, so there would be no mistaking the extent of the damage my choices had made.

The radio clicked off.

“You know what this means?”

I looked up, unable to soldier my face before the Father met my eye, a new, perverted stars 'n' stripes now on the wall behind him. Above us, the earth roared in agony.

“It means the politicians have been silenced.” He stepped closer. “It means the corporations have been erased.”

Closer. I drew my knees to my chest, pressed my back against the wall. Joseph raised his hands and tilted his head back, loving devotion to his patron softening his face.

“It means the world has been cleansed with God's _righteous fire_...”

My head throbbed. Everything _hurt_. The Father lowered his hands, now gazing at me, predatory and triumphant.

“But most of all...” He knelt and leaned in close, until I could smell the smoke and blood and sweat, “It means I was _right_.”

I could not hide the fear, my brain struggling to comprehend what had just happened. What was going to happen. Nothing, not my pop's ramblings, not My Time in the Middle East, not the backwoods battles I had just fought, could have prepared me for this: the ending of the world.

“The Collapse has come,” said Joseph, sitting in a chair but still leaning forward, no doubt getting off on my expression. In the dim light I could make out the swallow tattoos under his clavicle, _Sloth_ sliced into his right shoulder. “The world as we know it is over. I waited so long. I waited so long for the prophecy God whispered in my ear to be fulfilled. I prepared my family for this moment...” He reached as though to cup my cheeks, but didn't quite make it. The Peggy-cross pendant was still wrapped around his hand. “And you took them from me.”

The chair creaked as he leaned closer. Gone was the euphoria, his face twisting into that of a man desperate to sin.

“ _I should kill you for what you've done_... But you're all I have left, now. _You're_ my family.” Quick as it came, the rage vanished, and Joseph regarded me as though I were a boy, a boy with a blank soul, a malleable will. My guts turned to ice.

_Oh, no. Please, God, no..._

“And when this world is ready to be borne anew, we will step into the light. I am your Father. And you are my child. And together we will march to Eden's Gate.”

The earth shook again. Joseph looked up, closing his eyes as though it were the song of angels, and then leaned back in the chair, gazing at me, satisfied that he had me where he always wanted, at last.

* * *

When I opened my eyes, Joseph was still deep in prayer, holding my forehead against his with some kind of fucked-up affection. Evidently dear Dutch had squirrelled away a stash of mint toothpaste and Irish Spring, and none of Joseph's injuries – not from our final confrontation at the church nor the car crash – looked or smelled infected. Hell, even I felt fine, considering. Of course, after his victory speech on Day One, Joseph had seen to my beaten bag of bones of a body, during which the nuclear war blasted our planet in two, to keep in tune with his song; that I was his child, and he was my Father, kumba-fucking-ya. The asshat had even been gentle, cooing as he picked glass out of my forehead, pulled a split tooth and patched the bullet-graze on my arm. I was half purple with bruises and abrasions (none of which were as painful as they should have been, thanks, no doubt, to the Bliss in my system) and though my guts hurt, nothing had burst in there or I would have been dead by now. _God's protection_ , Joseph kept saying, turning his grateful gaze skyward. Whenever he did this I would glance up as well, only it was much quicker and oozed exasperated skepticism.

Hey, I did My Time. I knew of hell. I knew of angels and demons. But God? Nah. You don't see a woman running through the flames of a bus bomb with half an infant under one arm and think, It is God's will. You don't spend a morning practising battle formations in the new birds, enjoying the sunrise and the joke your wingman had just told seconds before a mechanical failure sends said wingman plummeting to the earth in a ball of fire, and think, He is with the Lord, now. No. Bullshit. God didn't send those nuke heads on the glorious U.S. of A. because he wasn't in the control room, didn't exist to be there at all.

No. I was still alive because running around Hope County for as long as I did, eating contaminated food, drinking poisoned water, breathing polluted air, I was practically half-Angel, and those fuckers didn't know when to die.

It was the only reason Joseph was still alive too. He emerged unscathed from a helicopter crash, and later skipped around with two arrow wounds _and_ walked away from a smashed vehicle carrying a full-grown man over his shoulders. For fuck sake, he claimed it to be the work of _God?_ Joseph was as hopped up on flower power as I was.

He had to be.

Finally, finally, the Father pulled away, muttering the tail end of his prayer, and opened his eyes. They were blue, and his left had a dark speck in it. What colour had Sheriff Whitehorse's been?

He smiled at me, encouraging and understanding, and whether he meant it or knew it only galled me I didn't know. All I wanted to do was smash my head into his nose and break it again, because that look, those eyes, resembled so closely those belonging to a man I loathed almost as much as Joseph himself – John Seed.

He looked over his shoulder, to the spot I'd been staring at when I woke up. The spot where Dutch had died. Then he turned to me again.

“You miss him.”

Ornery and crispy he might have been, I respected Dutch as I had any of my superiors. He saved me from Marshal Burke's fate when it would have been smarter to hand me over to the Peggies, then watched my back as I blazed a trail of destruction and mayhem through Hope County. A silent trail, I might add. That's what I trained for. What I was good at. Sneak in, take down the bigwigs right in the middle of their festering army, let it panic and scatter, and make an escape.

But not this last one. Walked right into Joseph's nest and, without uttering a single word, gave him permission to end the world. He'd seen the defiance in my eyes when he offered to let me and my friends go. Hell, he'd probably _wanted_ me to refuse. Then I blacked out for Lord knew how long, woke up in time to put arrows in Joseph's side and shoulder, then tried to outrun the hounds of hell with the Father – Dutch's murderer –in the back seat of a piece-of-shit truck.

His death was on me. Dutch's death was on me. He'd been safe and secure in his bunker, and I led the wolf to his door.

Why it took three days for this to sink in, I didn't know or care. I didn't cry; a lifetime's worth of tears had been spent years ago, for lost friends and family, that I didn't have it in me anymore. But I did close my eyes, wishing I could disappear, wishing I would die from my wounds like I should have done, just so I wouldn't have to remember the sound of a whirring saw blade...

Joseph had closed the door to the room he'd taken Dutch to, but still I'd heard it all. The dismemberment of the old man so he could be stuffed into the septic system piece by piece, so he wouldn't rot and get his revenge via aerial disease.

It was only practical. I would've had to have done it, if it were only me down here. So sue me for the spit of gratitude I felt for Joseph that day.

I felt his hand on my shoulder and jerked away, opening my eyes only to glare.

“You miss him,” he said again. “You are in pain. You must embrace your guilt, my child. Only then will you begin to heal.”

Fuck, I hated him. Hated that pitying look, the compassionate tone. I wanted to hit him, to kick him, to _hurt_ _him_ , but he stood, moving over to the radio and fiddling with the dials. As with the past few days, there was nothing. It was as if the world above had ceased to be. And, in a sense, it had.

He gave up and turned, leaning against the stand bearing the radio, and stared at me. This was not new. He'd done this every day since the Collapse, and although I was good at holding my ground, it both angered and disconcerted me. He became like marble, a lion with prey in his sights, and I was helpless to his scrutiny. My only defence, to gaze resolutely back.

_...BLINK, motherfucker!_

As though reading the command through my eyes, Joseph smirked.

“Hungry, child?”

Again, he knew I wouldn't answer. I was, I was starving, but like hell I was going to make things easy for him. Seven years of this? Seven _fucking_ years? Why couldn't I have bit it in that truck with everyone else?

What was more pressing was the need to answer the call of nature. On Day One, Joseph had left me to wallow in my own urine because I'd kicked him when he came too close.

Yeah, I'd pissed myself when the tree karate-chopped the truck and knocked me senseless. But considering I almost died several times in that same hour, I figure I did quite well, thank you.

'So proud of myself for not peeing.'

The line came unbidden to my mind. Although this was hardly a dignified moment to recall my friend, I thought of Luke Lee who, at the time of that particular proclamation, had been slumped on the ground, his back against mine, surrounded by dead cultists. I'd laughed dryly, knowing that if I hadn't impulsively asked the man to join me but a few hours previous, I would have been turned into Swiss cheese by that ambush.

My reminisce was interrupted by Joseph's approach. He probably felt emboldened because I hadn't kicked him when he went to pray into my face earlier. So I pulled my leg up in warning. I could bugger his knee if he gave me the opportunity. He saw this and, raising a hand in peace, came closer anyway.

“Good behaviour should be rewarded, don't you agree, deputy?” he said softly. “Bad behaviour should be punished. Do you need to be punished?”

Joseph nudged a chamber pot with his foot. It was stainless steel, like the ones found in hospitals. And I understood. There wasn't anything much more humiliating than being helped to piss in a pan by another dude when I was perfectly capable of doing it myself, bar the fact my hands were cuffed. Things had gotten real personal real fast on Day Two, but it was either that or, well...

What made it worse was that Joseph went about it as though he were a fucking care aid, as if holding another man's thingy was just 'part of the job.' I tried to tell myself to get used to it, to add it to the list of things to get used to, but that...

Now, though, I recognized an olive branch. Outward appearances aside, I knew he didn't like helping me pee anymore than I did. I might fight the feedings and prayer time, but the freedom of relieving myself on my own was too good a prize to pass up.

At the same time, I wanted to keep my record of silence. So instead of agreeing, I unbent my knee, and Joseph accepted it. The handgun appeared before the key – my 1911, the one that kept me alive in Hope County, that took Dutch's life – and I held still as the cuffs were removed. I stood. I was shorter than the Father but no less built. I did not go for the gun.

I remembered the pain of hobbling around with arrow wounds in both my thighs for weeks after Jacob Seed's Hunters tracked me down, and I didn't fancy a second round with a close-ranged bullet.

The pistol was aimed at my heart as I turned from Joseph, not meeting his eye, and stepped out of the bedroom. Across the way was the infirmary, an armoury next to it. On my right, neighbouring Dutch's bedroom, were the barracks. I guess the old man had anticipated having to shelter others, or had given passers-by lodging time to time. Joseph was too big a dick to allow me to stay in there.

I followed the passage past shelves of supplies and food, including tomato sauce for days, into the kitchen and living area. The bathroom was behind that. It had been stripped of anything that could be used as a weapon – the tank lid of the toilet, the mirror, even the toothbrushes. I did my business and turned on the tap. The water was icy cold and smelled metallic.

It made me wonder. What supplied the bunker with water? Had Dutch tapped into the lake? Or would he have thought the water too badly contaminated by the Bliss? And what about a grey water tank? Was there enough drinking water for two people to last seven years? Where was the filtration system?

I realized the tap was still running and hastily turned it off. What I needed were the blueprints of the place. Surely Dutch had filed them away somewhere. Not that Joseph would allow me the roaming time; I could feel his eyes burning through the bathroom door like lasers, and knew there was little sense barricading myself in here. Except in preventing the Father from having access to the crapper.

When I limped out, for a wild moment I thought Joseph had left. But then I saw a dark silhouette at the kitchen table, its back to me. I stilled. It was clearly a lure. But why? He had the weapons, and there was no running from this place.

Feeling like I was humouring him again and hating it, I crept silently towards the middle of the room (Joseph had taken my boots, probably to prevent me from using the laces to strangle him or myself) and took in the scene.

Joseph had set up the table, an electric lamp on his right, casting half his body in white. Before him were two plates with our daily rations and two shot glasses of apple cider. The fuck? It looked like he was expecting a date. But the only other person alive for miles was me. And like hell was I going to join him for that.

He raised a welcoming hand, that patronizing look back on his face.

“Please, deputy. Dine with me.”

Dine was a strong word. Dutch had kept fresh food around while waiting for the storm to hit, and there was no sense in letting it rot just to make it last longer. But still, there were only a couple carrots, a handful of grapes and some cheese on either plate. I knew it would be a feast of kings in a couple weeks time. Still, the thought of sitting with Joseph churned the bile in my empty guts.

He stood, arm still raised, reaching to grasp my shoulder. I drew away, not bothering to hide my revulsion, and yet he kept that infuriatingly compassionate expression plastered on his face and beckoned me closer. Again I was reminded of his brother, Johnny Fucking Apple Seed, and a prickling between my shoulder blades told me I was afraid.

“Come, I won't bite.”

I scowled at his raised arm. I'd shot that shoulder. I'd driven a broadhead into it from ten yards – it should have been torn and useless and his arm should have been imprisoned in a sling. He followed my eyes and smiled, rotating the arm.

“It is mending quite well, don't you agree? I suppose you're wondering how you could have missed my heart, when you had managed to slay my whole family, and many more besides, with the same weapon. I know, I can see the killer in your eyes, like a shadow in the night. It is old. You had it in you long before you came to this place.”

As usual I said nothing. He knew nothing of my past, and if he thought he could weed it out of me, he was in store for a hellova lot of ignored promptings.

Yes, I did use a bow to slay his family and yes, I did get snorted at by fellow Resistance members for preferring it over even silencers. But I grew up archery hunting, and during My Time I learned where to hit a man so that he fell without a sound, either by blasting apart his airway or winding him from the back or diaphragm. On top of that (although it disgusted me) the arrows could be retrieved and reused.

The only time the bow failed me was three days ago, when two arrows did not put the last Seed in the ground.

The silence, I realized, had gone past defiant and was now just uncomfortable. The only food I'd get that day was sitting on a table five feet away. I stared at it. The lack of protein and carbs would make me feel hungrier. Clenching my teeth, I turned my back.

“You can fight me, deputy, and you will, for many days to come,” said Joseph. “But I will always be here, as God will always be here, and when you are ready, we will listen.”

I went to leave, but in the silence it was impossible not to hear the safety clicking off on the handgun. So I slumped on the tartan couch, facing that sack of horse cum as he gave thanks to his God and then began to eat. The fish tank cast a blue glow through the room. I counted ten fish darting around. The eleventh was being nibbled at by its brethren.

When Joseph finished, he put away what I had refused, cleaned the dishes, and then shepherded me back to Dutch's bedroom, where I cuffed myself to the bed and was left with my thoughts.

* * *

Day 4

_The deputy fights me. The spirit of war rides strong within him, as it did my brother. And like my brother he will twist his guilt, cow it into submission and burn it as fuel, so he won't have to feel it, to accept it, to learn from it._

_I have been watching him closely since the Collapse, observing his actions and reactions to everything. He has held his tongue, perhaps thinking it would deprive me of decent company. He refused food at the table, scoffing my offer to meet a basic need as equals. He did, however, allow me to release him so he could perform bodily functions on his own, affirming his Pride is as bold as ever. It would seem not even a nuclear bomb could burst his greatest sin._

_I do still disagree with John. That it is not Wrath but Pride what brought us here. The deputy is an angry soul, true, but when I, when God, offered to let him leave with his friends, he was too proud to accept. When he tried to kill me, God came to my aid and fulfilled the prophecy in one magnificent sweep._

_It needn't have ended there. God was willing to allow us more time, time to rebuild our family, to prepare for the Collapse. But the deputy forced His hand, by slaughtering his chosen and his shepherds._

_I must make him understand. It will take time. Years, perhaps. And for that, he must survive the first trial._

_I have begun to rewrite the Word. The old man who built this bunker stored everything I need to do so. And, thanks to his sacrifice, I even have what I need to bind and cover the pages..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to Ubisoft's Far Cry 5 for the "Collapse Ending" dialogue and scene.  
> Curious thing, that scene. The way Joseph spoke, it was almost like he had doubts the Collapse was going to happen. Like he was afraid it WASN'T going to. Hm.
> 
> "I tried so hard and got so far, but in the end, it doesn't even matter. I had to fall to lose it all, but in the end, it doesn't even matter..."  
> In the End, Linkin Park.


	2. Chapter 2

~2~

I missed the sun. I knew when to miss it because of the twenty-four hour clock on the night stand. I longed for the gentle warmth of early morning, of the brilliant colours in the evening, of the dazzling strobe lights on the water in the afternoon. But even above ground, I doubted I would see it. It would be obscured by a haze of ash and dust and smoke, and when the fires died there would be only darkness, and cold.

I wondered how far the destruction had spread. Tried to tell myself that I cared about what had happened beyond Hope County. But I didn't. Not really. In fact I pushed it to the back of my mind to deal with later, if at all, because it was tormenting to think about the world that had been erased.

When I came home from My Time I'd found myself surrounded by corruption and greed, our country led by hate-mongers and fat cats only concerned with the mula they were forking into their own pockets. Not that that was a big change from before I was shipped overseas. This was one thing me and the Peggies agreed on. There _was_ a lot of rot in the world. Or, there had been. No doubt the worst shitfucks who didn't deserve it made it – like Joseph – but for those that didn't, seemed a pretty steep price to eradicate them. Like blowing up a house over a cockroach infestation. The thing is, cockroaches could survive nuclear radiation.

So no, coming home wasn't as shiny as the movies made it out to be. Politics aside, I had left a well-lit house and a warm bed and came back to dark windows and cold sheets. My girl had left me. Oh, she still slept in my bed, ate my food and drove my car, but she had found a new friend. A sharp-nosed friend that took her further away than any plane could take me. And before I could convince her to get help, she went to a place I could not follow.

Finding my girlfriend suffocated by her own puke had not inspired me to pursue life very hard. I'd hung up my uniform, took my last army cheque and dicked off to another state. “To start over,” said the squadron physician/therapist, my girl's friends, and a bartender. So I did, and I took up mechanics. Turns out I was good at it, too. I'd tinkered with cars and bikes growing up, like Pop, but little did I know that it would help me survive my next trial – a junior deputy of some back-country police department in Montana.

I guess I hadn't been happy helping folks fix their vehicles. I still wanted to help my fellow man, but after blasting extremist leaders from their high horses, turning a wrench seemed a little tame. The police academy was impressed by how I could handle a weapon, any weapon, and it didn't take long before I became the rookie under Earl Whitehorse's wing. He and his other deputies, Pratt and Hudson, only knew I was ex-military and was under no obligation to share what I'd done, so as far as they could tell, I was just a grunt without the balls to fight someone else's fight until I had no limbs left.

 _Ptcha_.

And now here I was, contemplating the sun, wondering if I would ever see it again, while Joseph slept on Dutch's bed. He snored, but lightly, and I knew he would bolt awake if a fly farted. Trying to escape, I learned days ago, was punishable by starvation.

My tongue rolled sticky in my mouth. Tasted like I had cleaned the floor with it.

The clock changed to 6 AM. The silent shift of mercury woke Joseph, and the Father sat up with mechanical ease, grunting softly, before standing. I watched him, for lack of anything else to do, as he performed his usual morning routine of stretching and controlled breathing. Fuck, I wanted to hit him. He was too damn _chilled_. Too damn _cool_ with this entire situation. His family was dead, his flock scattered, and he had a time bomb cuffed to the foot of his bed.

Finally, Joseph got on his knees, facing the Peggy flag on the far wall. He muttered a prayer, something he probably said every morning but I could never make out, and then got to his feet. He turned to me at last. He was shirtless again.

“Good morning, my child. Sleep well?”

I hadn't, and he knew it. He'd given me a pillow but that was hardly a comfort. I hadn't slept properly since being brought down here. I just stared at him blearily, clenching my teeth.

He let me out of the cuffs only to use the bathroom, and then it was back to my restraints, no offer to eat at the table. He hadn't offered for weeks. I hadn't shaved or showered for some time either – I looked and smelled like a goddamn Peggy. Maybe that's what the Father wanted.

After praying again, Joseph left me alone, and I settled to try and catch a few Z's. Sometimes it was easier when he wasn't in the room, and bad dreams had startled me awake several times in the night. If I nestled into the corner between the bed and the wall, the pillow between my shoulder and the bars, I could almost pretend it was a comfy squashy armchair. My ass was always cold and sore but it was still the best position to find peace behind my eyelids.

Peace. Hah. When I closed my eyes I saw Nick Rye and his family as slabs of charred meat, far from home, far from their beloved _Carmina._ I saw Pastor Jerome and Tracy and Hurk Jr., powerless against the coming storm. I saw Wheaty and Tammy running from the flames, taken from the safety of the Wolf's Den at the worst possible time. All of them, all the good folks I had helped, and were helped by, brought to that church to bear Joseph's judgment of yours truly.

And then, clear as a bell, I heard Jacob Seed's taunt in the back of my mind.

 _Don't you find it ironic that everyone you try to help winds up worse off? Eli... Pratt... Tragedy just follows you. If you really wanted to keep people safe...be a_ hero _...you'd just off yourself. Safer for everyone that way._

A searing pain forced my eyes open, and I cried out, sitting upright and clenching my right hand – or what was left of it. The ring and little fingers were gone, blasted off by Jacob's MBP .50 sniper. I'd been so careless, so sloppy trying to get the demented marksman in range, that I hadn't thought to withdraw my hand behind the rock I was huddled behind for cover. Jacob had laughed as I screamed.

It was phantom pain I was feeling now. I knew of fellow soldiers experiencing it after losing limbs to grenades and mines, but was surprised at its sudden intensity. It hadn't really bothered me since Tammy patched it up, although it had made using firearms more difficult.

Unwrapping the filthy bindings around it, I tried to get a closer look, but the cuffs were making it difficult to twist my hand into adequate light. I got onto my knees and squeezed my arms through the footboard bars, and then I could see – layers of puckered and nasty-looking skin stretched over the stubs. They throbbed as though they'd been shot off only yesterday.

I flinched as someone else's hands came out of nowhere and grasped my wrists. I had not heard Joseph come in. He didn't say anything, just turned my hand to see for himself. When he released me, his toes nudged my ribs. I ignored the order until he kicked again, harder. Withdrawing my arms from between the bars, the cuffs' chain clinking against metal, I kept my eyes averted from him, pretending he didn't exist, and went to sit back again. But he put a hand on my shoulder to stop me, and a small glass of water was held before my face.

I wondered, Could I dehydrate myself to death? Rebelling against Joseph in any way possible sounded like a good idea, but I highly doubt he would let me do _that._ So I allowed him to tip the water into my mouth, little by little, softening my tongue. When the last of it was gone, I watched the glass being taken away with reluctance.

Joseph was now offering me rice crackers and berries. Seemed silly, having a salty snack when water was rationed. But I needed the electrolytes so my muscles wouldn't freak out. I ate whatever he gave quickly, wanting him to _go away_ , and when the last cracker was gone I nudged closer to the bed again, dismissing him.

But he did not go. He sat cross-legged on the floor a few feet away, a white book in his hands. I glared at it. It was a copy of the Word of Joseph, sticky-notes littering the pages. How the hell did that thing get down here?

Then I remembered: Dutch. He'd hated the Peggies as much as anyone, but to bring them down, he would have had to know all there was to know, and that meant studying their bullshit scripture.

“You are familiar with this?” said Joseph, smiling at my expression. “The Truth as God revealed it to me, bit by bit, whispered in my ears for decades. Some of it, my own. My life, the life of my family. You read it?”

I had flipped through a copy or two. Jacob had apparently burned down the foster family home when he was a kid. Swell guy. Most of the Word was a bunch of religious claptrap blown out of Joseph's asshole and I hadn't absorbed a word of it. Peggies were bad, not because they followed a lunatic's orders so blindly, but because they hurt others to do so. That was all I needed to know.

“There are many stories in your friend's little library,” said Joseph, oblivious to my derision. “Churchill. Tolkien. Chaucer. But nothing has the power of divine revelations.” He opened the Word at random and began to read.

Like prayer time, I simply shut him out. I wasn't sure if he'd fooled himself into thinking I was paying attention or if he didn't care I wasn't. Maybe he just wanted an excuse to be around me, because he no longer had his flock to keep him company.

Regrettably, I knew that I'd be craving _his_ company in the coming weeks, putrescent as it was. Humans were social animals, and solitary confinement was a method of torture, not a punishment.

I realized my gibbled hand didn't hurt anymore. Curling and uncurling the thumb and remaining fingers, I nestled back and once more tried to sleep. I must have succeeded, because when I next became aware, I was covered in a blanket.

* * *

Day 43

_My child is strong. Like me, his Father, his spirit is ancient, and I start to question my initial impressions of him. I thought he was merely the rogue pawn, the stray sheep, but now I wonder if he'd been the catalyst since the very beginning. Born and destined to initiate the Collapse. I know he was not brought here by coincidence or chance._

_Even with the Bliss still flowing through his veins, he has resisted me at every turn. This must be God's last test for me. To embrace the lost, defiant soul, the nonbeliever, the heretic, the murderer, as though he were my own blood, and guide him to the righteous path. Prove that every soul can be saved, so long as someone remained to save it._

_I've always known it would be difficult. My family had their challenges, and sometimes, they admitted, the soul perished before it could be cleansed. They all mourned their failures but never, never gave up._

_And now God has placed with me the darkest soul of all. The harbinger of hell, the shadow of the white horse. And it would be all the more difficult in the coming days, for the deputy will be returning to his original state soon. If he survives, his will shall be his own entirely, and what is clay will become stone. But even stone can be tamed. Shaped. Sculpted._

_I do not want to hurt him. He will hurt himself, punish himself, far more than anyone else could. If he doesn't, I will fail. And I cannot fail._

_I shall not fail._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "If you just walked away, what could I really say? Would it matter anyway? Would it change how you feel? I am the mess you chose, the closet you cannot close, the devil in you I suppose, 'cause the wounds never heal."  
> Everything Changes, Staind


	3. Chapter 3

~3~

Lost track of the days.

It could have been a week. It could have been a month. My sleep cycle was worse than it had ever been, leading to endless stretches of blank staring at the opposite wall, and to nightmares that sunk their teeth so deeply into me, Joseph needed to shake me awake when I screamed too loud. Worst of all, however, were the bouts of sleep paralysis, during which I hallucinated a multitude of horrors that made me sick just recalling them.

On top of everything, my injuries didn't feel like they were getting better. Not worse, but like they had healed as much as they were going to and there was just a constant, general ache, everywhere. I blamed it on the malnutrition and dehydration.

When I woke this morning, I felt especially uncomfortable. I stirred restlessly in my little nook, a tremble in my hands and my head light.

Joseph was already up. I stared at his feet when they appeared in the doorway, trying to remain impassive and still, unwilling to show weakness. He approached slowly and knelt, and my eyes drifted unconsciously upward to see what he held. Water in a scotch glass.

It was the most water I'd seen in days. Was this some kind of treat? It had been a while since my last dirty look. Perhaps the Father considered that 'good behaviour.'

I smelled something as the glass approached my face. Slight, sweet, and flowery, like the mildest of perfumes. And I recognized it instantly. Bliss oil.

_No!_

I recoiled but Joseph grabbed hold of my jaw, forcing the water between my lips. I tried to spit it out. He dropped the glass and clamped a hand over my mouth and nose. I thrashed, cuff chain clattering against the bar, trying to kick him away but he was on top of me, pinning my hip with his knee and pressing my head against the wall. His free hand stroked the side of my face, trying to soothe me.

"Shh, shh..."

Panic and rage kept me resisting even as my lungs begged for mercy. Joseph's face swam. I was drowning in Bliss. I did not want more of that poison in me if it was the elixir of life – I would not allow myself to become Joseph's bitch.

But determination rarely trumped raw instincts. I swallowed, and his hand withdrew. I inhaled. Air collided with spit and water, ragged coughs tearing my chest.

I heard him speak. Something about, "For your own good." The Father brushed his fingers along my forehead one last time and then he was gone before I could kick his balls into his bladder.

I curled up as best I could, already feeling the Bliss muddle my thoughts, dampen my pain. It wasn't enough to make me pass out, but I could still lose hours, sitting like a vegetable at the foot of the bed. It had happened a few times when wandering Henbane River. Once I accidentally drove over a barrel of Bliss. Green fumes curled like liquid nitrogen through the vents, and suddenly I realized I had stopped, nose in the ditch, with no memory of having done so; the sun had set, though I could have sworn it had been blinding me but seconds before. My companion, Luke Lee, claimed a similar experience in the seat next to me.

"Everything sounds like it's coming from the bottom of a well!" he'd exclaimed, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes.

Here, now, I half expected to hallucinate Faith skipping and twirling through a patch of flowers, laughing, beckoning me closer.

But I didn't. I saw nothing out of the ordinary. The light seemed brighter, so I closed my eyes, bracing to resist whatever reaction was heading my way.

I could understand why Dutch would have the Word of Joseph down here. But Bliss? He didn't strike me as the kind of guy to dick around with chemistry shit, like Tweak or the vet, Charles Lindsey, who'd used the cult's own weapon against it. In my poking around, when Dutch had first brought me here, I had seen no lab.

Then it hit me. _I_ had carried Bliss around. Nasty as the stuff was, when combined with the local flora it was an excellent painkiller and it counteracted shock, keeping me alive after more than one botched firefight. I had some impressive scars now, remnants of wounds that should have put me in the ground. Too bad none of my army buddies were around to show off to.

Joseph must've found my stash when he took all my shit. But joke's on him – I didn't have nearly enough to be turned into one of Faith's mindless, hairless zombies... But he would have known that. So why...?

I couldn't feel anything anymore. No gut cramps, no phantom pain, no discomfort in my ass from sitting on concrete for hours on end, and the trembles had stopped. I stared into nothing as Joseph returned, this time with food. The crackers had a skim of honey. That must have been what made my hands stop shaking, by raising my blood sugar.

In retrospect I would remember that I had stopped shaking _before_ eating the honey, but at the time I just enjoyed the treat, because there was little in the way of luxury even if I hadn't been a prisoner.

Joseph then whiled away the time by reading from _The Canterbury Tales_ , which I might have read in high school. I hadn't paid attention then either. I don't know how long he sat there; seemed like days.

It took a long time for me to realize Joseph had stopped speaking. The ghost of a question hung in the air. He crawled over to me and felt my forehead. I blinked, and he vanished. Poof. Only a single lamp lit the room. I was _freezing_.

The blanket was in a heap nearby. I wanted it. I tried to reach for it but couldn't and didn't know why. My head was a balloon. There was an ucky feeling in my tummy but it was okay because all I had to do was get the blanket.

There were birds everywhere. Little birds with round bodies and tiny feet, hopping around on the floor. I stopped trying to get the blanket and watched them instead, smiling vacantly. My stomach clenched and white bile burped out between my lips, ran out of my nose. I kept watching the birds. They flew away when a blue heeler trotted into the room, tail sweeping side to side.

Boomer sat in front of me. He licked his lips. "Howdy, fucker!"

The dog burst into a cloud of moths as Joseph entered the room. Seemingly undisturbed by the strange sight, the Father tilted my head back, wiped away the puke with his own shirt, and gave me some water. Said something. Sounded worried. I wasn't worried. I was...happy...

* * *

When the convulsions started, everything else went away.

What started out as hand tremors spread to the rest of my body. I couldn't stop moving. I couldn't hold _still._ A throb behind my eyes intensified. The more I came down from the high the more I came to realize I was in trouble. I had not seen Joseph all day and was beginning to think he'd abandoned me to die.

Had to find help. I stood, knees knocking together like a newborn fawn. The cuffs prevented me from straightening all the way. I threw my weight backwards and the bed _screeched_ along the floor. I fell. Got up again. Hands gripped my shoulders. Joseph. I twisted away, yanking the bed another foot from its corner.

Then I was down. I didn't know if the Father had shoved me or if the shaking made it impossible for me to remain standing. The stink of puke and piss filled my nostrils. But he was talking to me. Joseph was talking to me, calm and soothing, trying to explain something... something I couldn't comprehend...

* * *

I was staring at blue. Face down under a heavy but supple weight, lying on something soft. A bed. A bed of my own, under a heap of blankets. I could smell something unpleasant and familiar: a medicine cabinet. I was in the infirmary, staring at the privacy curtain between the two sickbeds.

Everything felt... _wrong_. Like I was missing something vital. I didn't crave food. I didn't need water. It was something else, something I could not get because...because...

I shivered violently, making small, pathetic mewls of distress. Sweat and drool soaked the pillow but I didn't have the strength to flip it around. A pressure on my shoulder coaxed me to lie on my back. The light was bright. I shut my eyes. Something cold touched my lip and I realized how thirsty I was. Chips of ice slipped between my teeth and softened my leathery tongue. But after a while, a knife pierced my gut and I would take no more. Without opening my eyes I rolled back onto my side, shivering with a cold I could only be imagining.

There was a bucket on the floor. No sooner had I noticed it that I tried to fill it with my insides. Up came all the water plus everything my body managed to wrangle up in time for that moment. Putrid fluid scalded my nose and back of my throat. When I thought it was over I retched again, and again and again until my stomach cramped, keeping me half curled into myself.

Someone was stroking my back. It was Pop. He always did that when I had the flu growing up. He'd just sit there and rub circles on my back until my tummy was empty.

No. No, it wasn't Pop. Pop was gone. Only the Father remained.

He was talking to me again. I heard only a few words. Bliss. Withdrawal. Be strong.

Strong. I had to be strong. That's what Deputy Pratt had said, when I was locked in Jacob Seed's compound, seconds before the Father told me of his first family: the wife, killed in the accident, and the child, the infant, who should have survived but didn't because the Father chose God over her and pinched off her life support.

Would he do that to me? Pinch a tube until I stopped kicking, because I was weak and the weak must—be—culled?

No. I was strong. _I AM strong._ Pratt said so. Jacob made it so. And I would _prove_ it to Joseph!

My arm shook but I made it push me up. Behind me, the Father said something, warning me, pressing a hand against my shoulder to keep me down. I shoved it away. It came back, this time reinforced by an arm and I stood no chance. I was lying down again and he was there, right behind me, and he was so _warm_ I didn't move. All thoughts of fight evaporated because he was warm where the blankets only represented warmth. I stopped shivering for the first time in days and consciousness ebbed away, hopefully taking my memory with it so I would never, _ever_ recollect the feeling of a psychopath spooning me.

"Amazing grace, so sweet the sound..."

* * *

Joseph would tell me later that I slept for five days.

Five whole fucking days. While I wasn't missing much, when you spend a good portion of your life in someone's crosshairs, taking away five days not spent trying to survive was theft. On the other hand, five days wasn't a lot out of the seven year sand glass.

I was faint, but the shaking of my arm when I pushed myself up was not of Bliss deprivation. It would seem I was out of those woods. Joseph had mentioned withdrawal, and it made sense now that I wasn't delirious or semi-conscious: Hope County had been a giant bong. Food, water, and air all poisoned by that damn white flower. But down here, in Dutch's bunker, the water and air were filtered, the food grown by the Resistance or bought from outside of the county. I had gone cold turkey without realizing.

Or had I? I never once saw Joseph pour the water he gave me. For all I knew, he'd been spiking it ever since Day One, giving me less and less with every shot glass. But then what about _him?_ Why didn't _he_ collapse and pass out and become as helpless as an infant?

When I felt like I could, I pushed myself to my feet. I wasn't wearing pants or a shirt, but I could see fresh clothes on the examination bench to my right. I looked down at myself. The body I worked so hard to build and keep healthy was already shrivelling. It was covered in scars, some old, some not fully healed. I pressed the star-shaped puckers on my thighs. Those fuckers still hurt.

There was no such thing as a perfect piñata. I had always been proud of my battle scars. Proof to myself that I had what it took to charge through the fires of hell and withstand the consequences. But now...

I traced the word WRATH inked crudely across my chest. This was not something to be proud of. True, I had rushed to save my friends in Fall's End rather than flee the region, but I walked right into John's trap even though I saw it coming. Because I'd been consumed by rage.

I got that from Pop. Ma had been the gentle, bible loving one who always told me to never allow anger to control my actions. But after she was gone, Pop would tell me, _When anger rolls into town, shit gets done_. I never truly understood what he meant by that until I picked up a gun for the first time and was kicked to the other side of the planet.

My feet were bare and cold, tapping over concrete as I stumbled to the examination bench, where I pulled on the fresh clothes and then made for the door. It might as well be at the top of Mount Everest. My hands splayed against it when I finally got there, leaving hand-shaped smudges of condensation on the cold metal. The door didn't budge. I tried to pull it. Still didn't budge. Without the energy to have an opinion on my new prison, I staggered back to the bed and lied down, staring at the ceiling.

I wondered how much of the past few weeks had been real. I knew I'd been tripping hell's bells during my many adventures through Henbane River, including the final confrontation with Faith. I'd thought I was fighting an epic battle against a Bliss-flinging witch and her army of farmer Angels, but learned later of a report that came in about a man spinning around in circles, shooting wildly, and ducking and weaving around invisible attacks until he accidentally shot a girl hiding in the trees. Turns out that had been me.

I did feel bad about that still. Faith, or Rachel or whatever, had just been another victim of drugs and alpha male, fatherly-figure manipulation. However, the way she looked and spoke to me, to everyone... It wasn't condescending or supercilious. She had just pretended to be confused as to why I didn't need Joseph's guidance. Why I didn't _understand_. It pissed me off.

The Bliss had made me want to understand. To give up my own will and just be happy and safe. But always, a voice that sounded like Sheriff Whitehorse's had come through and snapped me out of it. With a little help from a syringe of adrenaline.

Hm. Adrenaline. Though not a cure, it had definitely brought me back to earth after a particularly potent dose of Bliss vape. No doubt there was something out there that better combated the effects of the drug, and Joseph knew what it was. Bliss came from nature, and therefore could be neutralized by nature. Not that a knuckle-dragger like me could ever discover what that was, even if I had the means of finding it right in front of me. No doubt whatisname, Feeney, the Walter White of Hope County, had discovered something, but I had never bothered to scour the Jessop Conservatory hard enough. And because I shot him out of a helicopter, no one had a chance to question him.

Whatever the antidote was, Joseph had it, and that was why he never rode the coaster of withdrawal like I did.

Fucker could have shared. Could have saved me from suffering. He probably figured it was "God's will." If I lived, I lived. If not, well, it wasn't like I was making good company anyway.

Joseph came in later to pray with me. Or rather, to pray while gripping my wrist so tightly my hand went numb as I stared resolutely at the ceiling. I didn't know why he just wouldn't _get it_. You couldn't force someone to believe something they didn't. I couldn't pray to his deity any more than I could Hurk Jr.'s monkey god king. It would be like talking on the phone without anyone on the other end of the line.

When Joseph raised his head, he was smiling, tears glistening in his eyes, like a proud parent. I stared back, bewildered.

"You have completed a trial. God has deemed you worthy to stand by my side. You, not my brothers, my sister. I thought I knew His plan. But now I see. You were always meant to be here." He raised his gaze up, closing his eyes, face light. "The faithful and the heathen, the devoted and the unfulfilled. I am the kite, and you are the string. I fly, but you keep me anchored so as to remember why I am here. And without me, you would remain on the ground, oblivious, unenlightened." The grey eyes fell on me again, and he smiled. "I am proud of you."

I just stared as he stood, pressed his lips to my forehead, and left the room. I wasn't sure if I was more annoyed or creeped out, but resolved to feed him his teeth the next time he tried to kiss any part of my body again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "'Round and 'round I go, addicted to the numb, livin' in the cold. The higher, the lower, the down, down, down. Sick of being tired and sick and ready for another kind of fix. The damage is damning me down, down, down. My heart's beating faster, I know what I'm after. I've been standing here my whole life. Everything I've seen twice, now it's time I realize it's spinning back around now. On this road I'm crawling, save me 'cause I'm falling, now I can't seem to breathe right."
> 
> Runnin', Adam Lambert


	4. Chapter 4

~4~

When some of my strength returned, I was allowed out of the infirmary. But it was one cage to another. I was back to being the chained dog, back at Joseph's mercy. And without Bliss lingering in my system, I was living in a world smaller than any I'd ever known. My thoughts were free and clear, not lifted, diluted, or twisted by the drug. I needed a focus. Without it, I started to...think.

_No. Don't think. Stop thinking. Don't think about it. Don't think about...about them—NO! Don't think!_

Joseph unwittingly helped keep me occupied. He had a routine he followed ritually every day, sometimes involving me, sometimes elsewhere in the bunker. Figured he was trying to get me used to his ways. To train me. Instead – and though I loathed to admit it – it was creating a rhythm to which I was growing comfortable with. Redundant and repetitive as it was, I was used to rhythm and pattern and discipline. With those came control. With those the days went by steadily, one at a time, gradually reeling in that distant horizon. And it wasn't all prayer time and book club. When he was feeling generous, Joseph would cuff only one of my hands to the bed and give me a pack of cards. Sometimes we'd play together, him talking, me retaining my stony silence as we duelled for random prizes found around the bunker: a book, batteries, the food shaker for the fish (amazing what caring for another creature did for the morale) or sometimes, it was the right to a shot of whisky, of which Dutch had left plenty. For a farmboy turned prophet, Joseph had quite the poker face. Me being a soldier, I had that down pat. Sometimes I won, sometimes he won. But while he might see this as bonding time, I just saw it as a way to make the day go by faster. And the occasional shot of whisky went a long way too.

He spoke his mind as we played. Talked about how the old world had the potential to be a better place. But there had been so many petty distractions, too many 'conveniences.'

"We once worked hard for everything, from scavenging and hunting for our food, to finding drinkable water. We used to clothe ourselves with what the land offered, and we communicated with our tongues, not our thumbs. Comment-wars did not exist, people did not feel the need to tell each other what the weather was or post pictures of their breakfasts..."

I let him ramble, hearing a lot of the same crap Jacob ranted about over the recorded broadcasts. And just because I agreed with some of it, didn't mean Joseph had the right to go blowing the world to hell. If I made it out of here, I figured I could live without a lot of the luxuries and conveniences, like wifi, television, grocery stores, even plumbing. But there were a few things I knew I'd miss dearly: streaming music, toilet paper, and cheesecake.

Joseph was now going on about how our lives were going to be without cars. Without oil or the means to unearth it, vehicles wouldn't be polluting our new home, and the ones that used to would be scattered about, burned and useless. I could see it. An abandoned highway littered with dozens upon dozens of empty, smouldering husks with blown windows and headlights, tires melted to cracked pavement and the acrid stench of burning modernization carrying on the hot wind...

Cars would not die so easily, I knew. When there was a will there was a way, and out there was someone with a will. Abundant fuel or no, they would get vehicles moving again, even if they have to...improvise. I imagined a happy slappy family of four sitting in a sedan, smiles plastered on their faces and their feet sticking out of holes in the bottom, running down the road. _Yabba-dabba-doo!_

I smirked to myself. Joseph misinterpreted and smiled at me.

"Yes. You see what I see. A simpler world is a greater world... I fold." He set his cards on the floor. I won the shot of whisky that night.

"A shame more people won't be enjoying it," he said, sitting back and regarding me. That look was in his eye. My stomach flopped and my face drained. "How many of them would have been given the opportunity, if only the Gates hadn't been destroyed."

There it was. Below the belt, foul, red card. My teeth were clenching so hard they hurt.

"Deputy, you're bending the cards."

My hands snapped open and the ruined cards fell to the floor. Joseph 'tsked' and picked them up, trying to smooth them flat.

"I think that's enough for one night."

I was fuming when he left to get dinner. I refused the food. I ignored my winnings – the whisky shot – as well. Joseph asked me what was wrong, even though he damn well knew what was wrong, the twatwaffle. He shrugged and put the food back, then spent an hour reading before turning in for the night. I never once moved from my position, concentrating all my focus on one thing – burying the poisonous thoughts Joseph seeped into my head on a regular basis.

_Not my fault...not my fault...not my fault..._

* * *

I hadn't seen a deck of cards for a while now. Joseph seemed to have forgotten I was a creature of intelligence and _needed_ something to do. Or, more likely, he was neglecting me on purpose for wrecking the queen of diamonds and ace of spades.

Right now, he was writing. He'd only started doing it in my presence a few days ago. For hours he would just sit there, cross-legged on the floor, scribbling on individual pieces of paper until they were full. Then he would stick them on the walls, too far away for me to read. I had my suspicions as to what he was writing, but didn't much care.

Today's session seemed extra long. Joseph must be on a roll. I was dozing off, jolting when I almost fell over. He saw it out of the corner of his vision and looked up. He didn't see me. His eyes had that distant look, his mind in another world. I wished I could escape like that. Get out of this tin can, soar above the earth in a good bird...

He blinked, and his eyes cleared.

"Oh, I almost forgot." Setting the pen aside, he stood, as limber as a young man, and grabbed his Word from the bed.

_Uuugh._

He sat on the floor again, just out of reach, and began reading a passage near the beginning.

"'Have we used our hands for good? Have we extended them in peace? Have we ended starvation, poverty, disease? No. We have taken that which is exquisite and wasted it in pursuit of the banal. Our short lives pass, devoid of meaning. Even worse, we debase these precious gifts, by clenching our hands into fists. We make war when we could be holding one another. Comforting our brethren. Building a society that will nourish every body and lift every soul...'"

I didn't try to keep awake, even with the fucktrumpet so close, and the passage he was reading didn't require a lot of passion, so his voice became a blur of white noise...

And that blur became the drone of a war plane. I was flying. A lush valley spread out below, and I dipped the starboard wing, catching a glimpse of the river—

I held the stick until I was spiralling into a barrel roll, avoiding the barrage of bullets aiming to puncture the armoured hide of _The_ _Dogfighter_. Shoving it forward, she plunged into a dive, dropping a hundred feet, three hundred, five. And then I hauled the stick back towards me. The plane shuddered but obeyed, pulling out of the dive, pine tops tickling her belly. I glanced over my shoulder. The black plane _Affirmation_ stayed on my ass, tailing me as I took to higher skies.

But I was not alone.

" _Let's get this_ _sonovabitch_ _!_ "

A yellow seaplane plunged from on high, swooping around me with the grace of a hawk and driving _Affirmation_ off course with a round of bullets. I had never seen a more beautiful sight.

" _Nick Rye! Have you already forgotten what I told you?_ " John Seed's voice came over the radio from the black plane. It sounded gleeful.

" _FUCK YOU! You're a goddamn demon and we're gonna send you straight back to hell! You hear me? You're a dead man!_ "

" _My, my, my, how contagious Wrath can be! I'll just have to kill you both._ "

I turned as sharply as I could, lining John up in my crosshairs and blasting him with everything this bird had. I was no ace, but I was angry. The black plane wove side to side to avoid my retribution.

" _The Father gave you a chance for salvation and you threw it away!_ " John snarled. _Affirmation_ tilted skyward but I stayed on her, shadowing her loop-the-loop. I could not let John get behind me again. " _Look at what you have done! Look at the_ Wrath _you have_ wrought!"

On cue came Nick Rye, flying _Carmina_ like no other man could, driving John down and away. I was forced to pull to starboard, to get out of his way, because I wasn't nearly as good a pilot and the thought of hurting Nick scared me worse than crashing myself. But then the yellow plane was gone.

" _Gun's_ _overheatin_ _'! Get '_ _im_ _, Deputy!_ "

I needed no prompting. I pounced on John again, hammering at him. We had him. We were taking him down!

John was laughing, and I could picture his face, the same face he had when I was bound in his bunker, my chest exposed, all that bare skin ready to be inked with my sin.

" _Look at you! The will, the tenacity! Such a_ WASTE!" And again he pulled upward, and I went to follow—

The sun burst out from behind a cloud and I screwed my eyes shut. No one had cleaned the glass of this canopy, _ever,_ and I couldn't see a thing. I twisted the plane hard to starboard, wings perpendicular with the ground, and swooped around until I was flying in the opposite direction, sure John had done the same and would be in my sights...

I saw no one. Head on a swivel, I sought foe and friend, but an entire quarter was a blinding blaze of light.

And then a voice, slick with smugness, slithered over the radio.

" _In my crosshairs._ "

" _Deputy! On your tail, partner!_ "

Nick's warning was unnecessary and tardy. _The_ _Dogfighter_ shuddered as bullets the size of my thumbs pounded her flanks, cracked the canopy, ripped apart her tail. I tried to evade but she didn't respond, and then a second volley hit. She decelerated, spewing smoke from her engine like a dying dragon. _Affirmation_ roared ahead of me, mere feet above, making my plane tremble. Lights and alarms blared at me from the dashboard.

John had me beat. He would come back around, and that would be that.

I knew what I had to do.

The poor plane shuddered as I forced her into John's wake, to hide and buy myself a nanosecond, and then picked up my bow from the footwell.

_Sorry, Nick._

I allowed the plane to slow, hit the eject, and abandoned her. I had no idea how I wasn't struck by the remnants of her tail as it shot past, but then I was in freefall, two thousand feet above the earth. I spread my arms, my legs, slowing my plunge as best I could without opening my 'chute. If I did that, I was a bigger, more obvious target.

John whooped over my earpiece. I watched _The_ _Dogfighter_ spiral down, down...

She crashed in the woods, a cloud of fire bursting spectacularly. I could barely hear it over the rushing in my ears.

" _You_ _sonovabitch_ _! I'm gonna kill you!_ " Nick raged. Did he not see me eject? Then John, too, might not have seen...

" _You never should have crossed me, Nick. And now, your family is mine!_ "

I did not hear but I could imagine Nick Rye screaming in paternal fury. _Carmina_ dove out of the sun and he unloaded everything the yellow bird had on _Affirmation_ 's starboard wing. By the time he peeled away, there was little left besides some tattered aluminum and spitting cables.

John's voice barely made it through the fritzy radio.

" _Aaargh_ _, no. NO! I'm losing control! I have— going down!_ "

And down he went, plunging faster than my own aircraft, while my heart soared.

_Yeah, Nick!_

I pulled my 'chute at last, clutching my bow tighter and grunting as my freefall was broken, and then I watched _Affirmation_ strike the earth and explode, never to plague the skies again, her sadistic pilot nothing but a charred crisp—

But...wait...

 _No_...

Some three hundred feet below me, I could make out a tiny speck against a golden field. I might have thought it a bird, but birds didn't use parachutes.

John's headset had survived, and he was now broadcasting for all to hear.

" _Brothers, Sisters..._ " He coughed painfully. " _Do not fear. We have prepared for this. The Father has shown us the way. Prepare my bunker. I am coming to join you... We will await the Collapse together._ "

A few seconds later, a Peggy's voice, panicky, sounded, " _John's plane's crashed! Father protect him!_ "

I could not let John reach that bunker first. He had the only key, the only means of rescuing Deputy Hudson and everyone else imprisoned inside. He was already on the ground; I could see a discarded parachute but not him. It would be a waste of time trying to hunt him in the woods. I had to stop him at the bunker.

As I descended I gathered my bearings. I knew the area. Steele Farm was just there. Follow the driveway south, turn east on the main road, and book it until the _We Love You_ billboard on the other side of the bridge, then up the winding path...

I landed hard, legs buckling, arms too weak to stop me from collapsing onto my face. There was a lot of gravity on this particular spot. Or maybe it was the adrenaline. I tore free of the parachute pack and harness and bolted for the building I could see through the trees. There was a truck, right there in the farm's driveway. A Peggy-mobile, decked with a mounted machine gun. There were bodies but I didn't stop to investigate. I threw myself in, yanked the door shut and turned the key waiting so considerately in the ignition.

_Wrrr-wrrr-wrrr._

Tried again.

_Wrrr-wrrr-wrrr._

Come on!

_Wrrr-wrrr—_ _BRRUUM!_

Boo-yeah! I threw it into reverse, twisting in my seat and slamming my foot down. The one-ton tore down the curving driveway, then smashed through the row of saplings between it and the main road. My head cracked on the ceiling when the ass end launched out of the ditch and slammed down onto the pavement, but I barely felt it as I shoved the shifter into drive and turned as sharply as I could. Tires spat up gravel and the mirror smacked into a power pole as I floored her east.

John knew this land better than me, would know the fastest route to his refuge. But what were the odds of him finding a working quad—

FUCK!

I slammed the brakes and tore the steering wheel to the left as a figure darted out of the trees, onto the road. Tires squealed like wounded animals as the back end skidded forwards, bringing me perpendicular to the road. But I kept my eyes locked on the figure turning towards his demise in seemingly slow motion...

John's bright blue eyes widened, jaw dropping, and I couldn't help mirroring the look as the truck kept sliding sideways, and it body-checked the youngest Seed before coming to a stop. The solid _thud_ startled me from the shock. Seizing my bow from the passenger seat, I leaped from the truck, only for shots to ring out. Fire tore across my ankle. John was shooting at me from the ground, under the truck.

I bolted towards the trees opposite from where John had emerged, clearing the fence in one bound. But the ground sloped away and my grazed ankle buckled. I went down cursing.

Expecting further attack, I crawled back up the bank, but when I peered through the tall grasses, John's black jacket vanished into the woods.

I did not give my ankle permission to fail as I clambered back over the fence. I ignored the truck – it was too big to make it through those trees – and tore after John Seed with a fury unlike anything I had ever felt before.

What he'd done to innocent people...What he would do to the people I cared about if I let him escape...What he would do to Kim and the littlest Rye—

I could see him, but did not have a clear shot. I took one anyway – the arrow thudded into a tree just ahead of him. He did not turn around, but ran faster, clutching an assault rifle. If we got out in the open, he would fill me with so much lead it would be a closed-casket funeral.

But then, we _were_ in the open, and he kept running. I saw why – a low-bed truck, unburdened by any load, still running as though left for him on the side of the road.

Where the sudden speed came from, I didn't know or care. Suddenly I was right behind him, my balled fist aiming for the joint of his jaw. But he'd heard the pounding of my boots and began to turn. My knuckles hit the back of his skull, which slammed into the door of the truck with a _clunk._

"Shit!" he roared as I thought, _ow!_ My fingers were stuck in a fist. The butt of his assault rifle rose as John spun around. I had a second to get my arm up to protect my noggin, but the impact sent me crashing sideways into the low-bed. My ribs caved against the edge of the deck, and I staggered back, hunched to the side, gasping for breath.

I had made a mistake. I'd wanted John to face me when I killed him. I'd wanted to see the light leave his eyes, because then I'd know for _sure_ he was gone, and it was because of me. And for that, John now had the upper hand.

His face twisted in a snarl, he smashed the butt of his rifle down on my left shoulder. My arm went numb, the bow clattering to the ground, and he back-handed me, my lip bursting against my teeth.

"You were given a _choice!_ " John struck me again. Blood gushed from my nose. "You were offered _salvation!_ " He kicked me in the balls, and as I doubled over he kneed me in the chin, knocking me to the ground. He grabbed me by the shirt and hauled me close to his face. " _Why do you not want to be saved?!_ "

I swung a fist into his eye. John barked in pain and let go, covering it. I sat up, fumbling for a knife, for _anything_ , blinded by the tears caused by my busted nose. I blinked them away, and with blurred vision I saw that John had gone.

No. He'd not gone. His arm came into view from behind, hooking around my neck. I clawed at his forearm, but John pinched his wrist in the crook of his other arm, locking the hold, and slowly increased the pressure on my windpipe. I gasped pitifully.

"I have seen your soul." His breath was on my ear, hot and minty. He cut off my airway a little more, relishing the moment. "I know what is in your heart. You wanted this. Deep, deep down, this is what you truly desired." I couldn't get anything in my lungs now. I thrashed uselessly, vision darkening. "And you wanted _me_ to do it." His breathing was loud and quick, trembling with excitement. "So I shall indulge you. Sleep well, Deputy. May God have mercy on your—"

The roar of an aerial engine. I opened my eyes. A white blur was fast approaching; a one-ton laden with Peggies was tearing up the road towards us, the Chosen in the turret ready to fire. But a gloriously yellow plane was swooping in behind _them_ , like a goddamn guardian angel. A voice crowed over the radio:

" _Welcome to Strafe City, population_ BRAT-A-TAT-TAT!"

Nick obliterated John's rescue team with a single pass. The Baptist released me and dove for cover as _Carmina_ roared a mere fifty feet overhead before pulling up, over the trees. With one inhale my mind cleared. Coughing coarsely, I rolled away, towards my fallen bow. John's gaze was locked on _Carmina_ , a cat eyeing the bigass canary with a vengeance, hatred plain on his face. And I seized my chance.

I grabbed a broadhead from my quiver and set it to the string. John looked at me, fear of his own mortality blatant in his eyes until I replaced it with pain, by releasing the arrow into his neck.

I woke up. Joseph was still droning on, so I closed my eyes and contemplated the dream, a playthrough of an actual memory. John had clung to life just long enough to tell me of the monster I was, of how all he ever did was save people, protect them from the Collapse. I'd paid no heed to the words of a dying freak, because until a few weeks ago, I had thought them nonsense.

It took one monster to kill another, it seemed. I was no protector, no saviour, no fucking _hero._ And at least I didn't have the pretension to think I was. Didn't use self-righteousness or religion to justify my actions so I could sleep at night.

But I couldn't help but feel that he, John, and his family, well...had been right.

The Collapse did come. And if I hadn't destroyed the three biggest havens in the valley, more people would have survived. They would be prisoners – tortured, brainwashed, the whole nine yards – but they would be alive.

And what kind of life was that?

I think I knew, for years, in the back of my mind that we were all fucked seven ways from Sunday. It was as Joseph said. _Something is coming. You can feel it, can't you?_ And it did come. Warnings came in snippets over fuzzy radio broadcasts. Tension was higher for those who'd served. Usually those feelings were shrugged off as paranoia and PTSD, but some did prepare. I'd stumbled across dozens of bunkers and stashes across the county, and knew someone, somewhere, was out there, waiting just like we were.

And if I had walked away, allowed the Peggies to stuff unwilling civilians into cages, to spread their creed, to preserve their way of life, well, what would happen but a rebirth of that cult when it was safe to emerge back into the sun? It would have changed, sure. Evolved in the darkness underground. But it would rise again, still Project at Eden's Fucking Gate, led by my shitstain warden, and it would spread like cancer. Only this time it would be more firmly attached to humanity, because social diversity simply wouldn't be there anymore.

There have always been men like Joseph. There would always _be_ men like Joseph. The only thing little troopers like me could do was slow them down. And boy, did I slow them down. This wasn't about morality. None of it. It wasn't about doing good, or doing bad. It was culling the herd. Just like Jacob said. Only Jacob's problem was that he mistook compassion and pacifism for weakness. Faith sold ignorance as happiness. John put all his faith in the divine and not in humanity. These were poisonous ideas. Prone to fester in society and make it frail, created strong unions within groups and deep, violent divides with others. It brightened the light, casting darker shadows. Pushed people to the extremes.

And now, here we were.

I had been on the fence, but now I knew: I did not regret my actions. If given the chance I would do it all again. Maybe not exactly the same, but I would fight for what I believed to be right, fight to take down those who created monsters out of decent (or at least half decent) folk. The Reaping? Joseph hadn't needed me for an excuse. The nuclear war? That was out of our control. Out of my control. But with everything else, I had a choice. There was _always_ a choice.

"Are you awake?"

I opened my eyes, turning my head to Joseph. Hell yeah, I was awake. He was gazing evenly at me, book open on his lap. I realized then that I did not hate him. Hated what he did, totally, and what he preached, what he was doing to me. But the man himself had qualities that were so rare these days.

As barbaric the methods he and his family had used were, Joseph was a great leader. Not good, but great. He could have saved a lot of people if he wasn't so wrapped up in being _right._ About being God's prophet. Using his God as a beacon alone would have saved hundreds, but that hadn't been enough for him. He wanted to save those who didn't believe him, or in him, and so he sent his flock to punish them and drag them, kicking and screaming, to their salvation.

The bottom line, though, was that he was a born leader. And for some reason, I had a feeling that he didn't recognize that in himself properly.

Joseph set the book of Peggy scripture aside and crawled over. It took all my willpower to not draw back as he knelt in front of me, hands grasping either side of my head.

"Judge not, and you will not be judged. Condemn not, and you will not be condemned. Forgive..." He rested his forehead against mine. "And you will be forgiven."

Understand. Understand and you will be understood. Not that simple of course, but I knew that to survive this, there would have to be compromise. For both of us. I would listen to him, but only if he listened to me, viewed the world as I did, tried to understand that you couldn't hurt people because they didn't think as you did.

I could never believe in God. The idea just wasn't compatible with my mind. But I had faith Joseph would see the error of his ways one day, and he would put more stock in the natural goodness of people rather than the guidance of a deity.

I shifted just enough to get his attention. He withdrew a few inches and opened his eyes.

"Deputy?"

I held his blue gaze with my brown. And I spoke for the first time in ages, my first words ever spoken to the Father:

"Isaac," I said. "My name is Isaac."

A glimmer of triumph shone in Joseph's eyes.

* * *

Day 98

_The Bliss has been purged from the deputy's soul. It was in his eyes. I knew it the moment I saw them._

_But they are still hard when they look at me. I care for him, yet he sees me as the enemy. I do not understand. He is the one who brought this upon himself, upon everyone. If he had just walked away..._

_I must show him his faults, his guilt. It is the only way to be reborn, sinless and untainted, the only way God will forgive him. But even if I succeed, will I be able to forgive him? He murdered my kin, sent countless of my flock brutally to the Beyond, and incurred God's wrath upon the world._

_My mind says no. But my heart, my soul, says anyone can be forgiven. They just have to atone, to confess, to say yes to salvation..._

_The deputy. Isaac. He refused my little brother, violently as was his wont. But the ones who fight the hardest need the most help. And that is why it was imperative that he survive the first trial – the cleansing. Not the baptism, no, but the purging of Bliss. All the Chosen had to undergo the suffering, and only the truly devout passed through the eye of God and returned to join the ranks of those promised a spot in a bunker, a place in Eden's Gate._

_It was a great responsibility. A clear mind is vulnerable to the temptations of sin. It is perpetually close to the basic, primitive animal that prowls within us all, tameless and selfish. But that is why I put the deputy through it. Weening him off, bit by bit, even after he started recognizing something amiss and fought against me. The day I spilled Bliss oil on my hand was the day he discovered my tampering. Of course, if I hadn't tampered, he would have died horribly, his mind snapped. I've seen it before, on the earlier experiments on Angels. I made the supply of Bliss last as long as I could, but at the eleventh hour decided to preserve the last stoppered vial for emergencies, leaving very little oil for the final few days of weening and a rougher journey for the deputy. God may have kept him alive after the crash, but the purging had been a battle for Isaac, and Isaac alone._

_...I look at him now. He has fallen asleep again. I wonder whom he will watch burn in his dreams tonight. Yesterday he muttered Burke, the marshal he'd torn from the caring embrace of Faith. He was calling for Burke's help. I wonder if he ever got it._

_Oh, Deputy. I wonder if I will ever stop calling you that. I must, for you are a deputy no more. There is no such thing as Law now. No constitution, no anything. You are free, and you have a choice to make. Two paths lay before you. One, you will continue to carry your guilt but remain steadfast with your beliefs. This is a dark, short path, one that will end only in merciful death. The other, similar in that you shall carry your guilt but instead of thrusting it aside, you will wear it, consume and be consumed by it. You will come to understand what you have done and it will destroy you. But I will be here. And I will fix you. Because you are my family, and I love my family._

_Rest well, Deputy, for your next trial begins._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Excerpt from the Word taken from Far Cry: New Dawn. Dialogue of John Seed and Nick Rye is from Far Cry 5, "Wrath" mission, and Joseph's "judge not" quote is from the "Walk away" ending.
> 
> "Even now, the world is bleeding. But feeling just fine, all numb in our castle, where we're always free to choose, never free enough to find. I wish something would break, 'cause we're running out of time." Overcome, Live


	5. Chapter 5

Part II: Breached

~5~

Joseph stopped feeding me.

Thought things were going good. Compromise required communication, and meaningless grunts and gestures were a bit vague, so I talked. Not much, usually one word answers if I could get away with it, but the Father didn't seem to mind. _Hadn't_ seemed to mind. And I thought he would be more open with me in turn. Maybe allow me out of the cuffs more often. Instead, everything went for shit.

I knew rationing was vital for our long-term survival, but two days? Without so much as a chip to silence my yowling guts? It was starting to hurt, the hunger. I wondered if my body consuming itself was considered cannibalism, and then I thought of Jacob and quickly stopped thinking of it at all.

If Joseph was trying to get me to beg, he was in for a long wait. But it was rough – I hadn't seen him for twelve hours when he suddenly peered through the window in the door. I was shocked to find myself relieved to see him; I'd thought something had happened to him out there, heart attack or brain aneurysm, something that would leave me with nothing to look forward to but a long, slow death. But, there he was, proving he was alive and well and being a dick again. The last time that door had been opened, Joseph had left a bucket and a tall glass of water. If he thought that was enough water to fill that bucket after I was done with it...

Turned out he was locking me in there for reasons that were his own. No bathroom runs, and nothing but willpower to stop me from chugging all that water in one go. The only mercy was that he'd left me cuffed by only one hand, allowing me to do my business in the bucket without making a mess. Not that there was much in me left to make a mess.

He was just staring at me again, through the door porthole. Observing the monkey in the cage. Well I wasn't about to put a show on for him. I might fling feces, but...

Then he was gone. I sighed, slumping back against the wall. I didn't noticed I'd sat up, perking expectantly. I had to be more careful.

From where I sat, I could clearly see the words gouged into the concrete wall opposite me.

 _The world is a diagonal  
_ _I am the balancing point_

The hell did that even mean, Dutch?

I had read and reread it so many times it echoed in my head. I knew the unique shape of each letter, the angle of each line. I saw it even when I pulled my eyes away and took to staring at the pages coating the far walls. No matter how far I stretched myself to get closer (Joseph had bolted the bed to the floor since the last time I pulled it around) I still could not make out anything.

Joseph was rewriting the Word. He had to be. Didn't know how many versions were out there already. I burned Faith's personal copy after I went ape-shit on Joseph's statue (prime therapy, that) and no doubt he had some updates, some new bullshit to preach. I didn't understand how he managed it. I could barely finish reading a novel, let alone write one. Maybe he was just that bored of telling me how to live my life or jerking off or doing whatever it was he did when behind the curtain.

...Fuck, so _hungry_...

* * *

Ten months had gone by, according to Joseph. If the bombs hadn't hit, people would have been camping and fishing and enjoying the summer sun. Now, they would stay hunkered underground, for years.

He continued his little game of Guess When You'll Eat Again! The longest I went without so much as a raisin was two and a half days. I had lost a third of my weight, my stomach hurt non-stop and I was seriously considering chewing off my own hand, breaking down the door and raiding the kitchen. And if Joseph got in my way...

I often daydreamed escaping and strangling the Father as he slept, or bashing his skull in, or ramming a can of pineapple down his throat. These were nothing like the pranks I'd thought about dealing to school teachers, where deep down I never actually wanted to put thumbtacks on their chairs. I was genuinely raring for a chance to hurt Joseph, because he was doing this to me, making me into an animal.

It was Jacob's classical conditioning all over again. Joseph might not be playing music to turn me into a raging lunatic whenever The Platters opened their mouths, but I was still thinking dark thoughts, my dreams filled with blood, of running through the woods with my teeth bared, hunting...

I was biting my hand again. I didn't have to wipe it off when I pulled it away from my mouth – no spit left.

 _Bloody Jesus, Joseph, please_.

I glared at the cuff binding me by one hand to the bed. My molars still ached from my efforts to gnaw through the chain.

Seemed an age since I slapped cuffs on the Father, ignored the warning bells in my head, defied the look he gave me and disregarded his advice on walking away... He escaped them, somehow, while we were all upside down in the grounded helicopter. And then, we had him a second time, Sheriff Whitehorse handcuffing him again when I should have just blasted his brains out, but he slipped out of those restrains, too. Right after I crashed the truck into a tree. Fucking déjà vu.

I didn't believe in fate. I believed in choice and consequence and coincidence and chance. But that... _that..._

I had to arrest Joseph Seed. He was the biggest cockroach of the infestation and needed to be dealt with. He murdered his own infant daughter, for fuck sake. It was sheer dumb luck he'd gotten away. And now _I_ was the one in Whitehorse's cuffs, and had been given no chance to slip out of them. Talk about a bucket of ice cold irony.

Tedious and seemingly hopeless though it was, I began to do what I'd been doing since Joseph started starving me – rocking the cuff hooked around the bed bar, wearing at both, bit by minuscule bit. I'd probably make more progress chipping an escape tunnel with my teeth, but the focus was imperative for my mental health. I only had to make sure Joseph never caught me doing it.

 _The world is a diagonal  
_ _I am the balancing point_

I blinked as the image of the words flashed in my mind's eye, like that dark blotch seen after glancing at the sun. I kept working at the cuff.

My head was light. Dehydration. I wiped sweat off my cheek with my shoulder and kept working.

An hour went by. Two. My eyelids drooped. The soft scraping sound was all I heard. Not the rumbling in my guts, not the humming rattle of the ducts. Just the minute scratches of metal on metal. The cuffs were of carbon steel, coated in some shiny shit. The bed was also carbon steel. So they would wear evenly against each other, rather than one breaking down the other as I'd hoped. Jesus, it's hot in here...

* * *

John Seed had me in his clutches.

Tied to a chair, below the chandelier of antlers, the room awash in red. Meat hooks hung on chains from the ceiling. The stench of blood was thick enough to chew. In a chair across from me was a faceless figure, head hung low. They looked dead.

John was whistling 'Magic Moments.' He sauntered into view from somewhere behind me, pressing the tip of a knife into his palm and rotating it around and around. John turned towards me, smiling, the very image of a handsome prince. His eyes were like sapphires, gleaming and bright with anticipation as he leaned close. His breath smelled like plane exhaust.

"Miss me, Deputy?"

He chuckled, then turned away, to his bench of toys. I looked to the tied figure across from me. I wanted to cry out, whether for help or to see if the person was alive, I'm not sure. But as soon as I opened my mouth John was back, pressing pliers against my lips.

"Shhhh, shh-shh," he cooed, "none of that now."

Suddenly duct tape was plastered across my mouth. Angry grunts were all I could emit as John returned to the table and began picking up tools at random. Set on a tray nearby was a tattoo gun, ready to gouge my skin with whatever sin John tortured out of me.

 _But you already know my sin_ , I thought. _Just let us go._

The figure in the chair opposite was no longer a blank mannequin. Though his face was covered in gore, his chest nothing but bloody pulp, I recognized Luke Lee, my friend and ally through many shitstorms. He stared at me, eyes cast in shadow.

"Could've told me what you were planning, Chief," he rasped. "I would've left your ass."

I tried to speak, but the tape muffled every word.

_I'm sorry. I told you to wait. But you followed me anyway. You should have stayed away._

John sucked his teeth, picking up a knife and wandering over to Luke. He swaggered around him, stopping at his back. Oblivious to the predator lurking behind him, Luke continued to stare at me. He shouldn't be breathing – his chest looked like a tomato casserole.

" _You_ should have done this," said John, left hand on Luke's right temple, the other bringing the knife to the opposite side of his head, at his jaw. "It would have been kinder."

I could only cry wordlessly in rage as John slit Luke's throat, slicing through artery and windpipe with one brisk slash. He let the hunter's head slump back, and he sucked air through the gash in his neck for a few seconds, twitching before finally falling still.

John returned to the table, wiping the blade clean with a Cougar flag.

"Anyone else?" he said softly, not looking at me.

My eyes whipped back unwillingly to the chair. Luke was gone. Someone else now sat there. Shaggy hair and beard, cameo uniform with the Whitetail crest, a compound bow broken at his feet. Eli Palmer raised his head. Blood oozed from a hole right in the middle of his brow.

"Hey, Dep. Remember me?"

" _Mmph_ ," was all I could say behind the duct tape, but my heart beat faster, nerves on fire.

"You did this to me. You put a bullet...right here." Eli pointed to his forehead. His eyes were like coal under a heavy brow. "I trusted you."

"Nph mph phmm," I tried to say. "Nph mph _phmm_."

"Oh, it's your fault, all right," crooned another voice. Jacob Seed stepped out of the shadows. The red overhead light gave him the devil's face. " _You_ convinced him to trust you. _You_ pulled the trigger. Only yoooooou..."

Immediately my body was seized with tremors. I saw red, heard a rushing throb in my ears and felt a terrible hunger—

"Don't go." John's satin voice brought me back. He was very close, caressing my cheek, looking at me with all the kindness of a lover. "I'm not done with you."

His eyes left mine, trailing down to my neck. Something thin and cold brushed against the pulse at the base of my throat.

"You took this from me," he said softly.

"...Can make all this world seem right..." Jacob sang in the background, circling Eli.

The knife went away, replaced by two hands, the thumbs stroking gently over my jugulars.

"I had a destiny to fulfill," John whispered. "A path chosen by God."

"Only yooou, can make the darkness bright..."

The blue eyes found mine again. They looked sad.

"And you took it from me."

John searched my face, then closed his eyes, leaning close enough for me to count the pores on his nose. And then he smelled me.

He held it, then exhaled from his mouth, opening his eyes and looking beyond the room.

"Temptation," he murmured. "Not even I am immune."

I fidgeted. The bindings remained tight on my wrists and ankles. Jacob continued to sing in the background, but I could barely hear him. My attention remained fixated on John, whose voice started to shake with excitement.

"Not me. Not the Father—" He reached between my legs and grabbed the edge of the seat, hauling it up and shoving my shoulder at the same time. My grunt was muffled by the tape as I slammed down on my back. John fell to his knees beside me, grasping my jaw.

"And certainly not you."

I squirmed harder, desperate to get out of my bonds. My breathing was loud and short through my nose. He leaned in close again, whispering only to me.

"Why do you not want to be saved?"

He searched my face for an answer, then pushed my head to the side, so it faced away from him. I could barely see him from the corner of my vision. My heart pounded, distressed sounds working their way through the duct tape. I heard John smell me again, and then he licked my ear.

I couldn't pull away. His other hand was warm as it slipped up my shirt, feeling my side. I fought even harder against the ropes. John's grip on my jaw tightened, and I could hear his smile as he spoke.

"You like that, Deputy? It's okay. You can tell me the truth. Just...say... _yes_." He licked my ear again, took it in his mouth. And then he nibbled.

Suddenly one hand was free. I gripped his wrist with it, trying to twist it away from my jaw.

"Don't fight it," John cooed, and ran his tongue over my temple. It was cold. Deathly cold. "Stop fighting me, Isaac. Isaac. Wake up. _Wake up!_ "

My eyes snapped open. Joseph was fending off my hand, his other, free hand trying to cool my forehead with a damp cloth.

"You're ill, Deputy. Please, hold still."

I obeyed, partially because it would be fruitless to resist, mostly because my arm felt like sand and it was a relief to let it flop to the floor. I was flat on my back, drenched in sweat, my right hand cuffed to Joseph's bed.

"You were dreaming." He dunked and wrung out the cloth in a bowl. Ice clinked. "I'm not sure if you were enjoying it or not."

I opened my mouth but it was too dry to speak. My face felt hot, and not because of the fever.

Hey. It's been a _long_ fucking time. I did get some action here and there in Hope County – a romp or three in the woods with the local talent, some hot and heavy moments in the back of a pickup, and I'm pretty sure the extensive hickey that appeared on my neck after Testy Festy was a gift from Mary May (still couldn't remember everything that happened that night. I think balloons were involved). But I must be _really_ craving a shagging if I dreamed of... _Eeeew_.

Don't get me wrong. It's the 21st century, yay, go gay. But _John_ Fucking _Seed?_

I cringed, shuddering at the thought. Joseph thought it was the fever.

"Shh. You'll be alright. Drink."

He helped me drink some apple cider. The flavour cut through the film coating my mouth, which had formed during the six hours I'd been asleep. According to Joseph, I'd been sweating profusely for four of those hours, but seemed to be on the mend already.

The fever made me have that dream. Case closed.

"Who is Luke?"

I looked sharply at Joseph.

"You mentioned his name in your sleep," he said patiently.

My stomach flopped. The pain of seeing my friend die in my dream had been nothing to the memory of the real deal. I told Luke to stay. I told him to wait with the truck at the bridge connecting the Whitetail Mountains to Joseph's island, because I would need him to come pick me up once I cleaned the last of the mess known as the Seed family. But as Joseph's compound came into view, I heard the rumbling of an old pickup and turned to see Luke disobeying my direct order. He hopped out of the truck, slammed the door, and came to stand defiantly beside me.

" _You_ asked _me_ to join you on your goddamn crusade. That means _I_ get to decide when to leave your ass."

He died in my arms. Took the buckshot meant for me, the only casualty in the final showdown in the midst of the Bliss storm. I doubted Sharky, drugged out of his mind, ever discovered what he did.

Some weird part of me was glad Luke Lee never saw what became of his beloved county five minutes later, when the first bomb fell.

"Deputy?"

I blinked, returning from memory lane. "What?"

"Who is he?"

I scowled and looked away. "He's dead. What does it matter?" I noticed a plate of food nearby. A handful of broccoli flowerettes and a chunk of meat. It looked cold, but it wasn't freeze-dried and it was the most food I'd seen in weeks. As I reached for it, Joseph grasped my wrist.

"Was he there?"

I didn't need to ask where. The firefight between me and my drugged friends would be a memory neither of us would forget.

"Yes," I growled. "And no, I'm not going to talk about it." I twisted my arm but he held on. So I asked the question that had been stewing in my mind, finally congealed into words.

"Did John believe he was doing the right thing?"

Joseph stiffened, his face open in surprise. I'd never asked him about his family before, nor had he offered to talk about them. For a moment I saw something that looked like anger on his face, and then it was gone.

"My brother...did not have an easy life," Joseph said at last.

"Your parents beat the shit out of him."

Again came the anger. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, inhaling and exhaling through his nose. When he opened his eyes the red had vanished once more.

"Our _foster_ parents saw that his soul was tainted. So yes, they tried to cleanse him. But how do you cleanse that which is already pure? John was a sweet child. Caring. Loving. All he ever wanted was to be loved back. But the world saw him with contempt. Only I understood him. Only I helped him back to his feet, lent him wings."

"He was afraid of you," I said.

"No. Not afraid. Submissive, perhaps..." Joseph looked on, seeing a past I would not hear about.

A minute snailed by. I stared impassively at him. He wasn't done.

Finally, he took in breath to speak, held it for a moment, then said, "Do you know what his sin was?"

I snorted. There were a lot of nasty habits of John's I could think of. Sloth was what had been cut into his skin, but I could also remember the gleam in his eye when I woke up on the church floor, the pain of a hundred needles piercing my chest, the way he sneered as he said, "Hold still. It's supposed to say 'Wrath,' not...'Rat,'" and then proceeded to puncture my skin and inject it with ink. And when he finally let me up to face everybody, my face burning with humiliation, he then forced Nick Rye to say 'yes' to atonement by pressuring his Achilles' Heel – his family – and sliced off the chunk of his flesh tattooed with 'Greed.' He held it high for all to see, like a fucking trophy, crowing his victory. Then he stapled it to the wall and turned his attention to me.

Pastor Jerome was there, of course. Holding the bible to which I was to express my wish to atone. I remembered the missing patch of flesh on his left pectoral. It was smaller than Nick's, leading me to believe his sin had few letters. Sloth? No, Jerome was no neglectful couch potato. Envy? Didn't strike me as such. No. Jerome's sin had been lust. The perfumed letter I'd found on the floor of the church days ago now made sense.

But Jerome's variety of lust was harmless. John's was not.

That's what John's sin was. Lust. And I said as much to Joseph.

"John was celibate," retorted the Father.

"That's not what I mean and you know it," I snapped. "You aren't made a sadist. You're born one. And abuse triggers it."

For a third time, barely suppressed rage rose in Joseph's face. "Choose your next words carefully, Deputy."

"You saw it in him too. But as you said, _you_ understood him better than anyone. Is it true? Does it take one to know one—?"

SMACK!

I froze, stunned, half my face burning from the backhand Joseph had dealt me. As poisonous or cruel his words sometimes were, the Father had never struck me before.

He dropped the wash cloth and grasped my face firmly, thumbs close to the inner corners of my eyes.

"You are blind," he whispered. "You refuse to open your heart, to understand. But I will make you. I will make you see..." And he gently pressed his thumbs into my eyes.

I lost my cool, grasping his wrist, trying to pull away. "No! No, please!"

The pressure vanished. I opened my eyes to find them inches from Joseph's.

"You will learn respect, sinner. Or I will _teach_ it to you." He stood, kicking the plate of food out of reach before leaving the room.

My heart hammered against my ribs, my eyes wide as though they knew how close they'd been to never seeing anything ever again. He'd been so gentle with me, I'd forgotten what this man was truly capable of.

* * *

Day 356

_Strange have been my dreams of late. Usually, upon consciousness they fade and I only recall their unsettling peculiarities. But last night my vision seared itself into my mind, and I must put it down, for I feel it will be important one day. Although no prophecy, it holds some significance, I feel it in my bones._

_I was walking in a garden. Our Garden, in a balanced world, purged of sin and of all those who would harm us. It was beautiful. The flowers. The trees. The life that hummed all around me..._

_It took me a while to realize what was wrong. I was alone. None of my family were with me. How could this be? You were all meant to be there with me, living in the world God promised us. The happiness I felt curdled into bile. Something was in Our Garden. I turned around, and there it was. A great black Snake, a writhing tendril of pure evil. Where it slithered the land died. As it hissed the light faded. It came ever closer, raising its ugly head, towering over me. Its eyes were soulless, like a doll's eyes, venom dripping from its open maw. It lunged at me—_

_Suddenly I was in a void. Dark, and cold, and devoid of God's love. Was I in the Snake? Was this what it felt? No. Surely the only thing that beast felt was gluttony and greed. This was an Abyss._

_Then, I heard soft weeping. I turned around in the dark, and could make out my sister. Faith. Her back was to me, hands at her face. I approached her, but she walked away. I followed. I wanted to comfort her but she walked away again. Not saying a word, just crying. No matter how hard I tried I could not get around her to see her face._

_And then it wasn't just the cries of a young woman filling the Abyss. I heard the mewls of an infant and turned to see yet more company. A man was standing there, facing away from me, but before I could advance he turned around, a swaddled babe in his arms. I recognized the child as my own, the one I gave willingly to God's loving embrace years ago. Her little face was pink and scrunched, shining with tears and snot. I tried to step forward, to take her from the man's arms, but my feet were stuck to the floor. I looked to the man's face, pleading, only to realize that it was the deputy. His eyes were as black as the Snake's. And when he smiled his teeth were long, pointed fangs._

_I woke up then, drenched in sweat. I do not know what the dream means, nor why my mind has decided to remember every detail, for surely it was not a sign from God. I would know if it was._

_Perhaps it is the hunger. Here and now I long for food but my soul is longing for company, for the ones I loved and lost. My daughter, sacrificed so that I may serve God completely; my brothers, my sister, taken by the snake in the garden; my children, you, my family, out there somewhere, hopefully not suffering as I am suffering, awaiting the world we were promised..._

_I will put my pen down and pray. Answers will come if I am patient. And down here, what do I have but time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "And we're all to blame. We've gone to far, from pride to shame. We're trying so hard, we're dying in vain. We're hopelessly blissful and blind. To all we are, we want it all, with no sacrifice!"  
> We're All To Blame, Sum 41


	6. Chapter 6

~6~

Food. It was all I could think about. It was worse because I knew there was food just outside this room. It was worse because I knew Joseph was out there enjoying it, had endless power over me, and there was nothing I could do about it.

As the weeks wore on, it got more and more difficult to keep my walls up. He continued to sleep in here, come here to pray beside me, but he rarely brought food, never brought a distraction, and he kept staring at me as though expecting me to put on a show. And he would say things. Toxic things. Goading me with constant reminders of whose fault this entire predicament was. I had never felt less inclined to react in my life. I stopped talking. I only looked up when he entered the room because that primitive beast in me was so damn hungry and _sometimes_ that squeak of the door hinges meant sustenance.

I was disappointed yet again this morning. Thought I could smell bacon as the door opened but the bastard came in empty-handed. I almost wailed in dismay. I lowered my head and ignored him, counting the twitching tendons in my hands. Amazing how much of the anatomy one could observe once starved long enough.

Everything was slow, cognitive functions lagging. It took me a few moments to realize Joseph was observing me a little too closely. He was raising my arms, pushing up my shirt, checking my vitals. I only resisted when he started poking at my face, lifting my eyelids and examining my teeth. I was so weak he felt like stone against my hand.

"Be still."

So calm. So gentle. I wanted to obey. He wasn't hurting me. It was the most attention he'd given me in weeks, and I was craving company almost as much as food.

I let him roll my lips, but winced. Turns out I get canker sores when stressed. I'd taken to nibbling at them unconsciously and some had festered. Watch out, ladies.

Joseph grunted, as though he'd found out everything he needed to, and went to stand. He only got halfway up before stopping. I stared at him curiously, then realized it was me who'd stopped him – my hand had locked around his wrist.

I was begging. Fuck me sideways, I was begging.

He stared down at me, only half lit in the glow of a lantern. And I saw the same hunger in his face that I felt through my entire body.

He knelt, eyes inches from my own.

"It must be this way. You must know what you've done."

I frowned, question unspoken but heard.

"It's your fault, Isaac. All of it. You must know this. You must understand and accept..."

I was shaking my head, throat constricted. I could scarcely breathe.

"N-no..."

"Yes." He stroked the side of my head. "Yours is a spirit of violence. God gave you his love by giving you life. And look what you've done with that gift. Look where your actions have led you."

"No. No, no, no, no—"

"Look at me. _Look at me_ , Deputy."

The poisonous thoughts that had been haunting the outskirts of my mind were closing in. My defences were wavering. The Wall, built years ago to keep insanity at bay, was cracking, seeping memories I did not want to remember, feelings I did not want to feel. Some old, some very, very new.

I was jerking around. My focus turned outward and I realized Joseph was shaking me.

"Let it happen. Let it out. Let your soul be cleansed—"

Suddenly Joseph was flat on his back. My mind took a few seconds to catch up. I was on my feet, my fist balled, throbbing from the strike on the Father's mouth.

"No. _No_." Every word was agony in my dry throat. "It's not my fault. It was you. _You_."

He got up slowly, rubbing his jaw, eyes locked on mine. Blood trickled down from his lip. I braced myself, knowing he would try to cuff both my hands again and that I would fight to prevent it.

"Deputy—"

" _It's not my fault!_ "

I thought my throat would bleed. Joseph shook his head.

"Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?"

I lunged, wanting to hit him again, to _hurt_ him. My whole body jolted as the cuff stopped me cold. The bed remained bolted to the floor. I turned towards it and yanked at it anyway. I was sick of this room. Sick of this place! I wanted OUT!

"You're going to hurt yourself." He was behind me, touching my upper arms. I swung my free elbow back as hard as I could, striking his face, then twisted the other way, leg coming up to kick him in the hip. The strength both surprised and emboldened me. I turned to see where Joseph landed – he'd crashed into the radio stand, wincing as a corner jabbed his back. He straightened, that infuriatingly compassionate look on his face again as he raised his hands, trying to calm the situation.

"Peace, Deputy." He stepped in range. I tried to grab him but he pulled back, reaching behind himself.

"Your sin feeds you, and your denial is destroying you. You must relinquish it. You must—"

The radio was flying at my head. I ducked under my arm, felt the radio bounce off, and in that moment of blindness Joseph lunged, kicking the back of my leg while hooking his arms up under mine and locking his hands behind my neck in a full nelson. I thrashed, trying to get off my knees but he held on, forcing my head forward until it hurt.

"Kill me," I gasped, teeth bared. "Fucking coward, kill me! You had chances before. You failed, and it cost you your family." The pressure on my neck tightened, my chin so tight to my chest I could scarcely breathe. I heard his words as though from the other end of a tunnel.

"I'm not going to kill you, Isaac." He resisted my efforts to stand with ease. "You do not get to take the easy road."

The prospect of surviving scared me more than dying now. I was embarrassed at the dampness on my cheeks. Suddenly the pressure on my neck vanished and my head came up, opening my airway. My mind cleared with the lungful of air. His arms were around my chest. Hugging me.

"You can do this, Deputy. You can purge the darkness inside you." He let go, kneeling beside me, leaving one arm across my shoulders. I had nothing left, nothing to fight with.

"You are a ship, adrift in a storm. I am the lighthouse, warning of danger, promising sanctuary. You must brave the storm alone. But I will always be here, waiting, guiding the way."

I didn't even have the energy to roll my eyes. Joseph pressed his head against mine.

"Pray with me."

I did not pray. I didn't move, but spent the next several minutes cursing Joseph to every foul fate I could imagine, wishing he could see what I was thinking, and then maybe he wouldn't act so goddamn _nice_ all the time.

When he left me alone, he left a man beaten. Defeated once more by Joseph Seed.

* * *

Day 374

_He is behaving as I foresaw. Violent. Stubborn. Denying his guilt and venting his frustrations on me. Although I admit his attack had taken me by surprise, I was able to subdue him, to calm the beast he has allowed to control him. He wept. Not out of gratitude I'm sure, but he wept._

_He sees me as the monster. He does not know I only eat when he eats, drink when he drinks. He does not know my own suffering, the darkness I feel even when bathed in light, how I long for company, even that of the man who murdered my family. I am alone. God is with me, of course, but since the bombs fell the Voice has said nothing, and I thought He would give me guidance. He is the all-forgiver, I am merely His hand on earth._

_..._

_An hour has passed, I wrote nothing. The new Word is proving elusive and without God's whispers I am at a loss. I would lay down what is on my mind here in this journal but I feel that it would be unwise. Perhaps a later date..._

_I checked on the deputy. He remains huddled in his corner, perhaps asleep. He looks as bad as he smells but I do not have the heart to disturb him again, even to herd him to the shower._

_Not for the first time, I wonder if I should not simply allow him the freedom of his own space, to look after himself. But I harden my heart. He is my child, and I must care for him, whether he wishes it or not. I cannot trust him to be able to resist temptation; he does not know how little food there is down here. The old man – Dutch, Isaac called him – had stored enough for one person to last for years, but not only are there two of us down here, we are younger and naturally need more food to sustain a functioning body._

_But I know I cannot be stringent forever. In addition to bags of vegetables, fruit, and fish, there are two deer and half a moose split between two deep freezes, according to Dutch's inventory list, all divided in vacuum-sealed packages for scores of single meals. While an excellent way to store food, not only will it become of poor quality in a few months, but the freezers required a lot of power to sustain them, power that should be concentrating on keeping the bunker warm and lit, the air and water filtered._

_I think I will pull out a portion for us to share tonight. The meat will do Isaac some good. We will be chewing on freeze-dried food for most of our stay here, so we might as well enjoy the frozen goods before they burn._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Not very good at just paying attention. Not very good at remembering things. I'm not very good at pursuing redemption. Not very good at concealing the hand that I play when I'm trying so hard just to beat you. I'm not really good at controlling my fate. I'm not really good at controlling my anger! I'm not really good at subduing my hate! I'm not really good, I'm not really good, I'm not really good!" The Way I Am, Staind


	7. Chapter 7

~7~

My focus revolved around escape. Radiation be damned and fuck the cold; there were fates worse than death, and death spawned no fear in me anymore.

It had been months since my attack on Joseph, and though he continued to be the calm and patient orderly, he was still wary, and rightfully so. If he'd ever considered letting me roam free around the bunker, he wasn't considering it now.

But that hasn't stopped him from talking to me. Months ago it was easy to shut him out. But more and more I found myself listening to him. Not just hearing, but _listening._ And not only during the day; more than once I woke up to him whispering in my ear. No wonder I was having such shitty dreams.

I tried not to think about what he was saying. It was the same song he'd been singing since the Collapse, and I kept telling myself it was horseshit. In what world did little ol' me causing a nuclear war make any _sense_? It just didn't. And Joseph was the one who decided to start the Reaping, not me. There was blood on my hands only because of _him._

I was never comfortable when Joseph was around, but I was beginning to dread his presence. I couldn't help but focus on him when he was nearby, to keep him in my sight, as though he might stab me in the back if I didn't pay attention. When he was elsewhere in the bunker, I could relax, and think.

The time alone was spent planning. I was allowed to use the bathroom again, but aside from that, I was always cuffed to the bed, which meant I would have to act during those brief moments of freedom a couple times a day. Joseph still herded me with the 1911, but it wasn't always pointed at my back. Until I was ready for the break, I would have to continue to be submissive, to lull him into a false sense of security.

Escaping the bunker would be the easy part. Having the energy to reach another hidey-hole was a hurtle I didn't really want to think about, probably because I couldn't fool myself into believing I would get that far. Still, I had a bunker in mind, a couple clicks past the fjord on the southern point of the island. Whether or not it was occupied or stocked were variables I could not control and so did not worry about.

Again, death held no sway over me anymore. And I would rather die, alone and forgotten, than endure with the Father.

As the accusations and condemnations continued, I stopped talking to Joseph. I was starting to fear what would come out if I opened my mouth. And I was angry. It was _him_. Thought I could change him. I promised myself I would do what I could to prove to him _his_ guilt. But every time I thought of bringing it up my mind would darken, and I would think about...

No. No, no, _no_. Not my fault. _Not_ my fault. Joseph called for the Reaping. God wasn't real, didn't start a nuclear apocalypse.

And neither did I.

My endless silence harried Joseph. It hadn't bothered him before I told him to call me by my name, which had seemed to him a rite of passage or milestone or some shit, but now that I had spoken, he was determined to weasel any words out of me he could. The lack of decent company was wearing him down faster than it was me, and I relished the morsel of control.

In the third week of my silent revolt, he had asked me what I wanted to eat. He always chose, but not choosing had never galled me. I was just happy when I got something. Guess he'd thought an option would be a treat. I never answered him.

Joseph stopped writing as much in my presence, and instead spent the time flapping his gums. He spoke about his upbringing. He asked me about mine. When I offered nothing but a deadpan stare, he dug in harder. Began talking about God, telling me how the world worked. I knew what he was doing. He was trying to get under my skin. To irritate me, to make me itch. But I didn't scratch.

I wanted to. Boy, did I want to scratch. I wanted to contradict his faith with my logic. I wanted to combat his devotion to divinity with my dedication to humanity. I could feel something, a burning, like embers in my gut. Joseph would say it was my Pride and Wrath. But I did not let them control me. I let the bullshit flow off me like water, because it could not hurt me.

What _was_ hurting me was how long he started to talk into the night, way past my bedtime. I made it obvious that I was tired of listening to him drone on by curling up or turning my back or fake snoring. But he would keep the room lit and talk my ear off until I was gritting my teeth, when it took all my willpower to prevent myself from shouting, "Shut up and fuck off!" Of course, if I did that, he'd win.

It was the ninth night of this. I was so tired my eyes pounded like little hearts.

"We're animals, Isaac. But do you know what separates us from the beasts? God. God's guidance. Without it, we would not know right from wrong..."

Blah blah blah. What was "right" and what was "wrong" was a human construction. Morality came with intelligence and a conscience, everything else came from the instinct of survival. Of course we were animals – we weren't _plants_ – but having potent emotions and morality had helped us evolve and survive as a species. Gods were lazy inventions, made to help explain the fabric of existence, why we were here and why things were the way they were. Divinity might be a comfort blanket, a candle in the dark, for a lot of people. But to me, it was a catalyst and excuse for people to wage war and hurt others. I knew what religion did to some people. And so did Jacob Seed.

I'd heard little of Jacob's military service, other than fighting in the first Gulf War, poking around Iraq and Afghanistan until PTSD forced him to retire. But he would have paid attention to the world he left behind, different from our own, as the decades passed but the turmoil continued, and fresh meat like myself was sent across to fight religious terrorism.

I didn't know for certain if Jacob believed his younger brother so blindly, like John and Faith. He'd said so himself, in his last moments alive, that he wasn't convinced Joseph spoke to God, but he didn't care because it didn't matter. All he knew was that he, too, saw what hung on the horizon. The great Collapse. The toppling of civilization. Jacob had been afraid of departing this world without leaving some kind of brand, of playing his part so some would survive. So the _strong_ would survive, like he did, when, starved and lost in the desert, he killed and ate his comrade so he'd have the strength to make it to base.

I looked at my cuffed right hand, half blown away by Jacob's MBP .05. Without the Bliss in my system I had phantom pain all the time. I swear I could feel the two missing fingers curling with the rest as I made a fist. Funny, that even if the bombs hadn't fallen, if I'd managed to escape Hope County, I would have such permanent reminders of this place. This bullet amputation from Jacob, the Wrath tattoo from John, the constant, smothered need in the back of my mind for the comfort of Bliss...

My head lowered and my shoulders drooped. Didn't matter. I hadn't escaped Hope County. If I had, if I'd just hopped on a plane and flown into the sunset maybe I would have been able to see some friends for the last time, visit my folks' graves, go to Disneyland. The bombs would have fallen whether I was here or not, to hell with what Joseph said.

To hell with it...

"Isaac? Isaac, I'm not done speaking to you." The Father was shaking me. I was drawn back from the brink of sleep and I gave him the best stink-eye I could muster. It was two o'clock in the morning, for fuck sake.

"You didn't listen to a word I said, did you? Very well. I shall start again. And again, and again, until you listen, until you see—"

I flinched, recalling the pressure of Joseph's thumbs on my eyes. He smiled, as if reading my thoughts. It was, after all, what I feared more than anything. It was one thing to be Joseph's prisoner. It was another to be his _blind_ prisoner, dependent on him for everything.

And I had no doubt he would do it. When I first arrived via helicopter to the county, I'd been briefing myself on all the info gathered about Project at Eden's Gate, including video interviews and espionage clips. In the latter, the spy had been caught, and Joseph pushed out his eyes with his thumbs. How the man had screamed...

_Good behaviour should be rewarded, don't you agree, Deputy? Bad behaviour should be punished. Do you need to be punished?_

Words spoken on the third day in this shithole. No. No, I didn't need to be punished. I'm doing good. I'm being good.

I realized I had ducked under my hands, hunched as though to protect myself from the world. And Joseph was stroking my head, humming Amazing Grace. I let him. And then I knocked his hand away. The humming stopped.

The silence was long and tense. I dared not look up, my ears straining to follow any movement Joseph made.

"...You're tired," he said at last. "Very well. Get some rest. My instruction will resume tomorrow."

Instruction? _Instruction?_ Who did he think he was? Who _I_ was? But I did not rise to the bait. I remained huddled until the light went out and Joseph crawled into bed. Then I unravelled and lied down, pulling the blanket over myself. I could hear the rattle of the air vents. The hum of the furnace. The gentle rise and fall of Joseph's chest...

I opened my eyes. Light from the hall peered through the crack under the door, throwing dirt and flaws in the floor in contrast. One particular shadow caught my eye. It was slender, shorter than my finger, and just within reach. I picked it up, feeling it in the dark. My stomach flipped. It was a key. _The_ key.

I clenched it in my fist, heart like a drum, terrified Joseph would hear, wake up and realize he no longer had it. But he didn't. Slowly, so that it wouldn't clack against the cuff, I eased the key into the slot and turned it. With a soft click, I was free.

Well, not quite. I had to get out of this room without waking my warden. Weak as I was, I couldn't trust myself to take him on even with the element of surprise.

I pulled the cuff off my wrist and gently let it hang from the bars of the bed, then got my feet under me. I was wearing socks, giving me cat-like silence. I didn't allow myself to groan as I stood for the first time in hours, then padded across the room, only opening the door enough to slip through sideways.

The light was dim but I could see everything. The doors across from me, the ducts and pipes above, the shelves to my right. I crept towards them, following the passage. At the corner of the hall was the red room, where Dutch had kept his surveillance monitors and intel on the Peggies. Until I went around that corner I could swear Joseph's eyes were tagging me in the dark, but even then, I felt like he was there, following. I wanted to run.

But I didn't. I made myself stop in the living area. I had to be smart about this, or there would be no point in getting out of the bunker. I nicked bottled water, freeze-dried food packages, and vitamins, stashing them in a dufflebag left conveniently on the couch. I also stowed some toilet paper, kitchen knives (weapons and tools had been locked in the armoury and there was no time to find the key), matches, a flashlight, extra batteries, soap...

In the hall were lockers, and in the lockers were coats, gloves, boots, hats. I pulled out some of everything and donned them as quickly and quietly as possible, feeling like every rustle of cloth was a rumble of thunder.

I was ready to go. Then I thought, the infirmary. There was bound to be something of use in there. But it was directly across from Joseph's room...

Suddenly I was there. Couldn't remember walking but I had, clearly, and now I had to look in the infirmary. So I did, and bagged an entire first-aid kit. There. That should be enough.

I slipped out the door, wincing as it squeaked. I'd left my boots at the lockers by the kitchen, so my advance was silent but for my own soft breathing.

The door to the red room was feet away when I heard another, louder squeak. My guts turned to stone. I turned. Light beamed from the bedroom, blindingly bright, as though it came straight from heaven. And then Joseph burst forth, sprinting straight for me.

I ran. Dropped the dufflebag and _ran_. Joseph's bare feet slapping on the cement was the only sound aside from my hammering heart. My legs were heavy, the floor seeming to melt around my feet. The hallway stretched on forever. I got past the kitchen, the lockers, rounding a corner, sliding into the generator. I could hear Joseph's breathing now. I kept running, taking the steps three at a time. The staircase seemed to grow ahead of me but I pressed on, seeing the door, touching it—

I was out. The light blinded me and I screwed my eyes shut before turning and slamming the hatch to the bunker shut. Loud bangs hammered it not a second later, the monster within unable to open it.

I fled, stumbling and tripping, torn at by twigs, grasses tangling around my legs in efforts to take me down. As my eyes adjusted, I opened them bit by bit, and took in the fresh world around me.

It never happened. The bombs never fell. Wind rustled lush foliage crowned with flowers, whispering through the branches that bowed to its whim. Birds sang their praises to the sun, which gleamed blindingly on the lake viewed between tree trunks. Overhead, a squirrel scolded me for intruding on its territory.

I breathed in the scent of sap and pollen, felt the earth mould under my toes. The Collapse never happened. I was home—

And like that it was gone. What was green turned black and what lived burst into flame. The sun died and the moon was bleeding, wind like fire scorching my face. In the distance, the haunting wail of a nuclear siren rose and fell. The sky was red and everywhere there were the screams of confused animals, of men, women and children. I turned around and there they were, scores of them, some burned to nothing, others still with flesh on their faces so I could recognize them – friends, enemies, people I'd saved and others I'd killed. Their pale faces were all pointed at me, eyes misted or melting from their sockets. They were tossed unceremoniously all around, in piles or hanging from black branches. And there was that gut-wrenching stench of burning flesh...

The roar of an engine, then the crunch of compacting steel, busting glass. I whirled around and saw a white pickup, front end crushed against a fallen, burning tree. I approached it, arm up to fend off the heat, peering through the broken driver window. Sheriff Whitehorse and his deputies, Hudson and Pratt. Dead. Left to burn in the old world. I stared at them, wanting them to be alive, refusing to believe I had saved them only for them to be torn away from me again—

Then Deputy Hudson lifted her head and opened her eyes. She looked at me. Blinked.

"Help me."

The snarl of a wolf tore my gaze away. I spun around, and there was a man, flesh raw with rashes, hair like fire and eyes a startling blue. Jacob Seed.

"Well, look at you," he crooned, suave and cool. "You did it. You made your sacrifice." He gestured behind me, at the truck. "I was beginning to think you didn't have it in you."

 _No_ , I thought. _No, you're dead. I killed you._ The words would not come out, my mouth coated in ash.

Jacob smiled and stepped closer. His cameo jacket was drenched with blood. I could see no wounds. "But you are weak," he said. "And I cull the weak. It's what I do." His teeth were bloody too, and through the choking smoke I could smell raw flesh. "I'd tell you not to take it personally, but..." He shrugged. "It _is_ personal. Only _yooooou_..."

Suddenly he was gone, a massive wolf in his place, song replaced by a howl. It was as big as a horse, white fur crimson under the bloody sky. I staggered back against the truck, eyes fixated on the beast. Something grasped my arm and I tore around. It was Whitehorse, half his face smashed to a pulp, leaning across the driver's seat towards me. He held a handgun, handle towards me.

"You got this, rook," he rasped. "You know what to do."

I took the gun and turned to face the Wolf. My hands shook so badly I couldn't aim.

"Be strong," warned Pratt, somewhere behind me. "You must be strong."

My hands steadied. The Wolf finished its howl and lowered its head. Its eyes were as blue as Jacob's. I aimed at the point between them. It snarled. And then it pounced.

BANG!

The Wolf vanished and instead a man hit the ground on his back. I saw cameo clothing, muddy boots, a bow falling from a limp grasp...

Wait. A bow?

I approached, now seeing a mane of shaggy dark hair and beard. Closer, I looked at his face, and then dropped the gun in horror. It was Eli Palmer, head of the Whitetail Militia.

A throaty chuckle turned me around, and there was the Wolf, leaping over the truck, teeth bared. Its forepaws hit my chest and I slammed to the ground, pinned by the beast.

As its sour breath washed over me, Jacob's voice whispered in my ear, "You are meat."

The Wolf's jaws clamped around my throat, piercing tender flesh. It burst, windpipe torn open, arteries like geysers, but I did not die, not before the beast turned back into Jacob, covered in gore. My gore. He smiled at me, flesh between his teeth, and then he grabbed me by the collar, leaned down and began to feed.

My eyes snapped open. I was grasping my blanket in both hands and biting it so hard my teeth hurt. I jerked my head, as though the blanket was a particularly tough chunk of steak, before remembering where I was, who I was, _what_ I was. I spat it out, fibres stuck to my tongue. Streaks of pain shot up my jaw, cramping my cheeks. I was drenched in a cold sweat, as though I had really been standing amidst roaring flames.

As my heart slowed and the dream slunk away to the back of my mind, I sat up, leaning against the footboard. I couldn't see much, but I could tell Joseph was gone from the lack of breathing sounds. He'd shaken me awake when I was having a nightmare about his younger brother. Had he abandoned me to the one with his elder? I couldn't pretend not to be grateful whenever he rescued me from the particularly tenacious, harrowing dreams, although he was probably doing that only because he couldn't sleep through the screaming.

They weren't new. Ever since my first firefight, the first time I ever took a man's life and watched comrades lose theirs, my sleep had been lost as a sanctuary for me. Time healed all wounds, but not when they're reopened every night.

When Joseph entered the room, he found me with my knees up to my chest and my head in my hands. He tried to coax me to relax, to open up, to pay attention to him. My head hurt and my eyes throbbed with fatigue. Even the promise of food couldn't draw me out of this hole. Exhaustion had finally surpassed hunger, and all I wanted to do was sleep. I couldn't bring myself to care when Joseph cozied up next to me, close enough to feel the warmth of his arm. He didn't say anything, and for a long time we just sat there.

I wanted to talk to him. About Jacob. Of the three brothers, I related to him the most. Veteran, hot-blooded, honourable. But his experiences had broken him, turned him into a breed of monster I could not let live. A rabid dog. He might have been a good man, once, but what he did in Hope County was unjustifiable. There was no excuse for what he did. What any of them did.

I thought of Eli. Twice now he'd shown up in my dreams with a bullet in his head. No. I did not regret taking out Jacob Seed.

"Will you eat something?" said Joseph softly.

It took several seconds for the question to register. Without lifting my head, I nodded.

He brought me a small bowl of rice with a sliver of fish, sprinkled with salt. Joseph must have spiked it with something because I couldn't even finish the rice before my head became an anvil, and he had to help me lie down. He drew the blanket over me, said something I didn't hear. But one thought rang through my mind before sleep claimed it. I was going to escape. Tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "And what do you think you'd ever say? I won't listen anyway. You don't know me, and I'll never be what you want me to be." I'm Still Here, John Rzeznik


	8. Chapter 8

~8~

Day 479

_The dream plagued me again, in the earliest hours of the dawn. The Garden, the black-eyed Snake, then the Abyss. Only this time, Faith was absent. Instead, John was waiting for me, lying on his side, staring at a knife he was holding point down on the unseen floor. He looked...sad. Lost. When I approached, he raised his eyes, but there was no change to his expression._

" _Where am I, brother?" he asked softly._

_I wanted to tell him he was with God, not trapped in a void in my head. But my tongue was stone. His eyes left mine, falling back to the knife. I saw in the reflection on the blade a figure standing behind me and turned. There again was the deputy, holding my daughter._

_Give her to me, I wanted to say. Give me my little girl. But Isaac kept her well away, staring at me with the Snake's black eyes, condemning, accusing._

_She's mine! Give her to me! I lunged but he remained the same distance away. The Snake was yet taking from me. Taking, always taking, to hurt me if nothing else..._

_I woke up again without achieving my goal. Of holding my child one last time. Isaac was snoring lightly, deep in untroubled sleep, as if he deserved it. I rose to write my experience down, for I still feel it must be of some importance. God must be trying to tell me something. Or my heart is._

_Isaac is the Snake in the Garden, I've always known that. Then why does the serpent come across as evil in my dream? Isaac is not evil. Hot-blooded, violent, misguided and delusional, for certain, but no one is pure evil. People are slaves to their natures, and the deputy is no exception. He's never struck me as someone who would keep a parent from their flesh and blood, however. Is it my fault? Do I have such a bleak outlook of the man who murdered my family that I see him as nothing but a pitiless monster who deserves no mercy? I did things to hurt him, I know this. I am the scourge, the salt in the wound. In trying to save him I caused him pain and he reacted as many are prone to. He, and so many others took to the guidance of the animal within rather than the rational soul God placed in all of us. Only through pain is there salvation and, ultimately, paradise. But they cowered from the suffering, choosing to remain in the dark. We pulled many from it, but not all came to see the light._

_Was that what I saw in my dream? Was the Abyss the darkness the sinners take refuge in? Where Isaac dwells in defiance to God's love? If ever I try to talk to him of such things, he would ignore me, annoyed, but not arrogant as one might think of an atheist. I want to know how it is he lives without God. What it's like. I've been with Him for as long as I can remember and the thought His absence is so alien an idea..._

_We will talk one day. He will open up to me and I will find that missing piece in him and fix it. People lose their way for reasons of all natures – loss, science, false deities and misguided reasoning – but that is why I am here. To help the lost, the blind. The wretched. And one day, every and all will come to see who is right._

* * *

Didn't know how long I slept, only that I felt refreshed for the first time in eons when I opened my eyes. I was in my usual spot, on the floor at the foot of the bed, cuffed by one hand. Joseph was sitting cross-legged against the far wall, pen scribbling frantically across paper. He was gaunt in the lamp light. No doubt I looked the same.

I had to piss, but didn't want to disturb him, for some damn reason. He looked like he was on a roll. Besides I was comfortable, and so remained still and silent, watching him lazily.

After several minutes, his eyes flicked up, perhaps unconsciously, for he had to double-take. He set the pen down.

"Better?"

I nodded.

"Don't get used to it. You must learn to find peace on your own."

I said nothing, sitting up. Whatever he gave me didn't seem to have any lasting effects, but he didn't need to know that...

Out came the handgun, and then the key. He tossed the latter to me and I unlocked the cuff before tossing it back. I got up, slowly, stiff but over-exaggerating it, taking much longer than normal.

It was time to engage Operation Wounded Bird.

Hands on the cool bars of the footboard, I kept my back to him. I feigned dizziness as I turned around, my head ducked as though to conceal it.

"Are you alright?"

I waved the question aside and released the bed, making for the door. Joseph did not offer support, clearly wary, circling around behind me as I exited the room.

_Now. Think drunk._

I walked straight at first, but then I staggered into the shelves, stunned with fake vertigo. I pushed away impatiently. I was a soldier, and I would fight through discomfort.

"Isaac?"

I grunted and kept walking. At the threshold to the kitchen area, I paused and leaned against the doorway, breathing heavier than necessary. Pressing my thumb and index finger to my eyes I stumbled on.

"You are not well," said Joseph. "Sit down—"

Another grunt, and I used the deep freeze and fridge to help me reach the back room. I pushed the bathroom door open and fell against the sink, letting the door ease closed behind me. The weariness wasn't all for show – I felt like a baby bird all the time now, weakened by hunger.

I did my business, flushed, then washed my hands. They were cold, so I let them thaw under the warm water for a minute. There was a tap on the door.

 _Ocupado_ , I thought. And then I accidentally on purpose fell into the shower.

It hurt, but it also worked. Joseph burst in, and I watched through my eyelashes as he stepped over my legs, crouching between me and the toilet, reaching for my neck.

I let him feel my pulse, fast and strong, for a second. And then I set my hand against the side of his head and slammed it into the crapper. I was weak, but so was Joseph, and he slumped on top of me with a grunt, stunned. I seized the 1911 and squirmed out from under him. Yanking the door open, I stepped into the back room, wondering how I could trap him long enough to escape.

Killing him never even crossed my mind. In the kitchen, I ripped everything out of the fridge, including the shelves, and pried, pushed, and pulled it away from the wall. It took everything I had and more to move it into the doorway to the back room. The fridge wouldn't fit through, so I turned my attention to the deep freezer. It had wheels but I gutted it too, and then pulled it away from its spot against the wall. With the last of my strength I lifted the front so that it rolled and crashed down on its back, right up against the fridge. No way Joseph was pushing through all that in a hurry.

I fell to my knees, muscles screaming, head light. I could feel my heartbeat in my throat. I hadn't felt this horrible since my first day at recruitment camp.

But the drill master had always managed to dig up some stash of energy in the fresh-bloods. According to him, until your heart exploded you always had the energy to get shit done.

_Come on, you lazy buttfucker. Get moving!_

I got to my feet. Then, it was déjà vu. There was the dufflebag on the couch. I seized it and began filling it with the discarded contents of the fridge – opened cans, thawing fruit, packets of cheese – but left the rest of the space for freeze-dried meals, bottled water and vitamins. I grabbed knives, soap, matches, a flashlight and batteries, and was just trying to zip the bag closed when I heard the bang of the bathroom door hitting the wall.

"Isaac!"

Taut as a bow, I fled the kitchen. In my dream I'd gone to the infirmary. Wouldn't make that mistake twice. I turned to the lockers in the hall and tore them open, pulling on extra pants, shirts, a jacket and gloves, covering my head and face with scarves and yanking on boots slightly too big. In the kitchen, I heard the fridge and freezer screech an inch across the floor.

"Isaac! Don't do this!"

I heard a grunt of effort, but nothing else. He wasn't strong enough to push free!

"God will not let you leave. Isaac! ISAAC!"

I was gone. Bag in one hand, gun in the other, I ran past the generator, furnace, and chemical showers, leaping up the stairs with the ease of a buck. The hatch was locked but then it wasn't and I was out.

And I saw the ruin the world had become.

Black pillars stabbed up from the dunes of ash and snow. The fires had gone out because there was no green left to burn, no life left to consume. The sky curdled with dark, angry clouds, growling at the desolate land below. The lake was lustreless, heaving in a wind that bit through my clothes. Even with the scarf across my face I could taste not death, but the absence of life.

Numb, I stumbled north until my boots were an inch from the crystallized shore. The horizon was iron grey, the mountains like black, rotten molars. I was standing on another planet. How the fuck was I going to find another bunker when I couldn't even recognize these surroundings? I turned my back on the shore. South. Just start heading south, get away from _him_...

I had not gone twenty feet when the screech of metal and a soft _whump_ pulled my gaze around. A gust of wind blew up a dust devil. And there was Joseph, rising like a fucking phoenix from the ashes, eyes as dark as coal.

_Well, shit._

I was shaking, and so did the 1911 as I aimed it at his head.

' _You got this, rook_ ,' said Whitehorse.

' _Be strong_ ,' said Pratt.

My grip steadied. Joseph raised his hands, stepping forward, but his face did not reflect the calm, compassionate temperament he always portrayed. He was pissed. Ash and snow puffed around his feet as he advanced, unafraid.

"Come back to me, Deputy," he said over the howling wind. "You go, you die."

I thought about taking a warning shot, but what if there was only one bullet? If I shoot, it would be to kill.

Where the fuck did he even come from?

"Our fates are intertwined, my son. God has willed it. Look at what happened when you disobeyed Him before!" Joseph spread his arms, gesturing at the desolation around us. "We were not meant to see this. Come to me. I can keep you safe."

"Get away from me!" The first words I'd spoken in weeks. They were razors in my throat.

He'd managed to close the distance between us by half. I stepped back and stumbled over a branch buried in snow.

Gone was the anger in Joseph's face. "Isaac. We can do this, together. There is no future out here, not yet. But there will be, I promise you. Return with me to the bunker."

"N-no." I shook my head, chin trembling, jabbing the gun towards him. "I'm not—I'm not going back. _I'm not going back there!_ "

"You're scared. I'm scared too, Deputy. I feel lost, and lonely, because...because I'm failing with you." Joseph was almost at arm's length. Ash stuck to the blood on the side of his head. "I see the hatred, the disgust in your eyes when you look at me."

"Then ask your _God_ for help," I mocked, sneer hidden behind the scarves but audible in my voice.

"I have," said Joseph. "But He has already given me the path. He has given me you."

I pressed the gun barrel to his forehead. "S-stay back."

"Isaac." He put his hand on it, and without force, began to lower it, so it pointed at his chin, his chest, his stomach...

I couldn't fire. Something had paralyzed my fingers.

"Not every problem can be solved with a bullet," he whispered, looking me in the eye. I was a mouse, transfixed by the adder's stare, and he took the gun from my limp grasp.

"Come, Isaac. Let us return. We will eat, we will rest, and we will talk." He put a hand on my shoulder, pulling me forward and turning until we were side by side. The eye contact broke as I stumbled over what I thought was another branch and I looked down. It was a bone. A human bone.

A rushing in my ears, and I turned on Joseph. Fucking turned on him. He threw me off but I went at him again, one hand going for the gun, the other grasping his neck—

BANG!

I stopped cold. Joseph's shock mirrored my own. I had not meant to shoot him. I had not meant to...to...

I looked down. Pulled open the jacket. On the grey hoodie beneath, a red rose bloomed, spreading wider and wider, sapping the strength from my legs. I swayed. Looked back up at Joseph. As my vision darkened, he reached for me, but I was already falling...

* * *

Day 487

_The strength of this man astounds me. I should be writing this in blood, for it drenches my hands – I had nearly destroyed the only path God left before me, nearly took a man's life with a crude weapon. But the deputy keeps the way open, keeps it lit, every time he opens his eyes._

_The shock would have killed a lesser man moments after receiving the wound. But he held on to life long enough for me to bring him back into the bunker, leaving a trail of blood in our wake. I had staunched the bleeding the best I could but he was going to need the help of the divine to pull through. It tortured me to have to first strip us of our contaminated clothes and dispose of them before moving further into the_ _bunker. He had been bundled up, so the radiation would not have affected him the short time we were out there. After I cared for him, I showered vigorously, but admit I succumbed to the nausea some hours later and was forced to look after myself for a while._ _I also managed to get some kind of iodine compound pill down the deputy's throat, then take one myself, although I am unsure if it helped either of us._

_The radiation exposure dealt with, I then had a more pressing matter to attend to. The bullet had gone straight through Isaac. It had missed his spine and stomach, and I was able to suture both entrance and exit wounds while he was unconscious. But he was so pale, shivering violently. He was in shock. I knew I had to resort to drastic measures to ensure the success of God's task for me._

_I loathed to do it. I only had one vial of Bliss oil left, enough to keep the deputy's heart beating while his body repaired itself, God willing. But after this, he will have to purge the Bliss from his system again, and the first time had nearly killed him._

_But I did it. I injected a compound of Bliss, dried lupine pedals and prickly lettuce stems directly into the wound and allowed the miracle flower's essence to do its work. Its effects had been instantaneous. Isaac's breathing eased and strengthened. Death throes calmed and he even opened his eyes._

_That had been a week ago. Since then he became conscious a few times, but the pain in his face was always too much to bear and I would give him a dose of pure Bliss. Just a few drops, and he would dip below awareness again, back to a pliant stupor._

_God is giving me a second chance. Or, perhaps, this had been His plan the whole time – He knew Isaac would make an escape, and so the deputy imprisoned me in the one area of the bunker I could escape from, given I had the strength – the emergency escape hatch, in the back room between the kitchen and bathroom. Isaac must have forgotten it was there. Had not thought to look up before making a cage with the fridge as the door. I was able to pull the hatch open and climb the ladder to the surface, just in time to stop the deputy from making his escape through the ashes._

_And then the lamb soothed the lion: I'd approached Isaac as he readied to kill me, and he allowed me to take the gun from him. It was beautiful. Exhilarating. Last year he would have shot me on sight, but the fight had finally gone out of him...for a few moments._

_I don't know what set him off. I was guiding him back to our sanctuary when he suddenly snapped, going for the gun. I don't know how it happened, it just fired, and then he was looking at me, and I saw what he must have seen when he took the lives of my kin. Pain. Fear. And worst of all, resignation. I tried to catch him but he fell. Didn't even try to stop himself. It was God, putting me before the deputy again._

_So delicate, was life. It took astronomical amounts of energy for a mother to bring it into the world, but the world need only to snap its fingers to take that life away. I had stared down at the deputy, the man who brought the Collapse, who butchered my flock and family, watching his cursed life leech away into the ashes. And I enjoyed it._

_God forgive me, I enjoyed it._

_I cannot avoid it anymore. I've known since the moment I chose to pull Isaac out of the fiery wreck, leaving his friends to burn with the old world. I could have left him there. It would have been painless, and his soul would have been judged a final time by God. But I wanted him. I wanted him. I didn't allow myself to think this, but the truth has always been there – I want the man who murdered my kin to suffer, not by the hand of the devil, but mine._

_I've told myself, over and over, that I'm cleansing his soul. Saving him. I keep him chained to my bed like a dog for I am now his master. And his is a spirit of violence; I can't trust him not to kill me at the first opportunity. He has to learn, to earn my trust. He doesn't. He hasn't. He keeps resisting, and I relish it. Even now I want the excuse to torment him. I savour watching him squirm and seeing his defiance gradually morph into apprehension when I enter the room. When he'd begun to shy away from me, I'd thought of my little brother. Isaac would have been cowed a lot sooner if subjected to John's ministrations. But I want the deputy's body whole. I want a challenge – I want his mind._

_The body needs the mind to function and the mind needs the body to act. It is the deputy's mind, his spirit and will, that brought down my family. It is the monster I must slay. Torturing his body would have only deepened the divide between us, not to mention put his life at risk. I do not underfeed him to hurt him – his suffering is a fortunate byproduct – and the one time I struck him, he needed to be put in his place. No. I know how to break a spirit without breaking the body. Isaac is just a particularly difficult specimen._

_I see the monster in myself, now. I hesitate to even write it, for I know I will be sharing my works when the time comes. But I must be honest, with myself, with you, faithful reader. I am not perfect. I know sin, quite deeply. I'd thought I had it under control, but having the deputy at my mercy woke the primeval beast that resides in all of us, although mine is cut from a different cloth. I show him kindness when a normal man would have beaten him. When he breathes fire I soothe his burns. It confuses him. He expects hell but I grant him forgiveness, a chance to redeem himself. But I do this not to help him. I do this because I think it damages him more than anything else could. And when he finally believes me, when he finally accepts what he did, he will punish himself far more than I or anyone else can._

_I am observing him as I write this. He lies in the infirmary, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. I spent the last hour talking to him. I don't know if he heard me, but I thought I saw his hands twitch at certain points, like when I mentioned his friends and how he had been the ruin of them all. I told him, as I told him before, that I was the only one who could have saved them from the Fire._

_And I would have. They were my children, as all are my children. But now I have only one, and I nearly lost him two different ways._

_The thought of him almost escaping angers me. Wrath rode strong within me that day, when I rose from the emergency escape hatch and stopped Isaac. But I culled the fiery sin and, with God's help, brought him back._

_Why had Wrath affected me so? Even as my pen glides across the paper my thoughts are changing. It wasn't the fact that he was escaping what angered me. It was that, if he had succeeded, I would have been alone._

_Isaac knows my game. When he figured it out, I do not know. But after he stopped talking to me again all those weeks ago, the emptiness that had spawned in my heart began to grow. And he knows it. He recognized the longing in my eyes and shut himself off, and there is nothing I can do. I hate him for it. Not even God's love can fill the yawning gap in my soul, torn when Isaac killed my family, festered when the simple comfort of other human presences was taken away. My control over him was slipping._

_And then he gave it back to me._

_This must be what God had intended. Isaac is dependant on me again. The unpleasantness of helping him with bodily functions aside, he is back under my hand, and he is a much smaller man than he used to be. It's only a matter of time, now._

_I think I will talk to him a while longer. He is a much better listener now that he is in the Bliss._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Maybe redemption has stories to tell. Maybe forgiveness is right where you fell. Where can you run to escape from yourself? Where you gonna go? Where you gonna go? Salvation is here." Dare You To Move, Switchfoot


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excerpt of Joseph's Journal at the end of the chapter is from Far Cry New Dawn.

~9~

_Your fault..._

_You led them to their doom..._

_Your fault..._

_Why didn't you walk away...?_

_They were better off without you..._

_Your fault..._

_You should have died in that helicopter..._

_They would have lived if you left them in the Gates..._

_You should have killed yourself..._

_Your fault..._

_Your fault..._

_Your fault..._

I'm dead.

I died and made it to heaven. The ground was cool and the sun warm, and the breeze carried the smell of life. Grass tickled my nose. Birdsong banished the fog in my mind and I opened my eyes. An inchworm was making its way up a stalk not far from my face. It paused to dance for me, then inched on. I watched it until I couldn't anymore, and breathed deeply, taking in the scent of loam and flowers. I rolled onto my back, looking down at myself. My white shirt was unsullied and my jeans free of tears. My feet were bare, my skin scrubbed clean, and I felt no pain. I looked at my hands. I had ten fingers again.

I sat up. I was in a clearing surrounded by lush woodland, the sky a pale blue. A bumblebee droned past my nose and I followed its progress until my eyes fell upon a cougar. Its sandy fur looked so soft, the power of the animal evident in every stride as it padded through the tall grass towards me. I was not afraid. I raised a hand, and it sniffed it before closing its eyes and pressing its brow against my palm. It made a deep, yowling sound in its throat as I scratched its ears.

A young woman's laugh sounded all around me.

"You came!"

I turned, and there she was, in a white lace dress, short in sleeve and skirt, her feet bare and her hair of bronze gleaming in the sun. Faith Seed was smiling at me. She took my hand and I rose to my feet without any effort, transfixed by her grace.

"I knew you'd be back someday," she said, taking both my hands and twirling us around. I felt like I was floating. "It was meant to be. You belong here. You belong with me."

"Where am I?" My voice sounded a mile away.

We stopped spinning and her hold tightened. "Home."

I believed her. I felt rejuvenated. Pain was a distant memory. Stress, a forgotten burden. The world around me was whole and peaceful and balanced, and so was I. Faith began to guide me through the grass, and white butterflies took to the air around us, making her laugh with delight.

"You understand now, don't you?" She let go of one of my hands and held hers up. A butterfly landed on her finger. "It's all happening. It's all coming true. Just like the Father said it would." The insect took to the skies, and with a dizzying spin the sun went down and the stars came out, millions of specks in a blue velvet field. Banners of green waved slowly across the sky and I could only stare in awe. I had never seen the Northern Lights before.

She touched my cheek and I turned to her willingly. On her finger now was my friend the inchworm.

"This...this was us," she said. "Dirt crawlers. Consumers. All we ever did was eat our world. Use it, without any regards to the consequences. Our world was shrinking, no leaf left untouched, and even though we saw the end coming, we kept gorging, hurtling towards disaster..." The inchworm was dancing again, but as I watched, it inched to the underside of Faith's finger and hung upside down, becoming a chrysalis. She locked gazes with me. Her eyes were sad.

"This is what we've become. Huddled in the dark...alone...afraid..." She cupped the chrysalis in her hands, concealing it from view. And then a brightness returned to her eyes. "But not forever. Soon, we will rise again." She opened her hands and a new butterfly, bigger than the rest, fluttered into the sky. "We will no longer be the greedy earth eaters. We will become something the world _needs_ , not merely something it supports." The insect landed on a white flower, antennae twitching. I raised a finger as though to stroke the creature.

"And it's all because of you," she said. "You came, and you saved us."

I frowned. "I didn't do this."

"You _did_." She took my hands again and we sat, facing each other. "You were the final piece. The part that the Father, that God, had been waiting for." She smiled, face creasing with empathy. "You still feel the pain, deep inside, don't you? You feel that in saving us, you hurt us. You hurt me. But you didn't. You set us free. The world was sick. We were cancerous, and cancer must be cut out."

Her words shook something inside me, tried to remind me of something. I pushed it aside, wanting my focus on her.

"But...I hurt...I hurt so many people—"

"You freed them, just like I did," said Faith, squeezing my hand, wanting me to understand. She got on her knees, so that she sat slightly higher than me. The Northern Lights gave her a glowing aura. "And now, you must free the Father."

I blinked in question. She ran her fingertips down the side of my face.

"You know what he did to me. I was just a child when he..." Tears glistening with moonlight seeped from beneath her closed eyelids. "He claims to be no longer lost, to see. But he is lying to himself. He thinks he is doing God's work. But God never wanted His people to suffer at the Father's hand. I was the only one to truly understand what I was doing, giving people freedom and happiness, showing them the power of faith." She opened her eyes and smiled at me. "You thought you were saving them when you killed me. But look at what you tried to prevent!" She stood, hands brushing the tips of the grass, skipping around and sending more butterflies fluttering into the air. "This. This place. But I know you didn't understand. I hope you do now. This will be the world. Have faith. Be patient. And you will be home soon."

She was fading before my eyes. I stood, reaching out for her.

"Don't go..."

Another smile, and she took my hands again and spun us around once. "I will always be with you." Her palm pressed to my chest, and I felt my heart against it. I tried to take her hand but mine when straight through it. She was drifting away, up into the night sky.

"Save the Father. Have faith." The whisper was in my ear. "Have faith..."

I blinked, and the stars vanished. A warmth lingered on my heart, but there was nothing there. It was with sorrow I looked around and saw only the walls of the infirmary, smelled only medical equipment, heard only the supplied air vents. For an uplifting second, I thought I felt a butterfly wing brush my cheek, but there was nothing.

Nothing.

I knew I was hurt. I knew I should have died. But Joseph saved me, again, and had used Bliss to do it. And yet my thoughts were clear. At long last realization struck me hard. The full weight of the consequences of my actions washed over me in a wave I could not surface. A clenching feeling constricted my chest, making it buck. My eyes twinged and leaked out of the corners.

It was my fault. It was all my fault.

Thousands died. Thousands would have been saved but they weren't because I couldn't leave well enough alone. Because I didn't walk away. It could have been anyone. Anyone with the will and the fortitude and the stubbornness could have pushed the buttons. But it hadn't been anyone. It had been me. _Me_. Chance and circumstance put me in the path, and I took all the right steps, played all the right keys, and it was _my_ soul that was to be destroyed by guilt.

The pain went beyond the physical. I sat up, legs sliding off the bed, fingers grasping my hair. I wanted out of my own body. I wanted release. A nameless force was building up inside me, rising from my gut, filling my chest. I whimpered to let it out. Wasn't enough. The sound grew louder, harsher, and then I screamed. It was primitive, and I raised my face to the ceiling, trying to force it out all at once. I ran out of breath. I fell to my knees. Filled my lungs and screamed again. Neck tendons bulged, face red with the effort, vocal cords on the verge of snapping from the strain. And then I collapsed, forearms on the floor, body curled down until my chin touched my knees.

The Father came to me then. He spoke not a word, but set his hands on my back and shoulder. I was sobbing, unable to form words, unable to ask for his forgiveness. He seemed to understand, though, and he prayed, prayed for both of us. And then he pulled me over his lap, stroking my hair as I continued to cry. My Pride was gone. My Wrath had withered. I was a husk. A soldier no more.

_Forgive me... Forgive me... Father..._

* * *

Day 495

_The deputy is wracked by guilt. I thought about killing him, as a mercy. But I will have him understand my forgiveness. I will have him know what it is to be judged as he has judged. And when he does, when he crawls out of himself with nothing left but hunger, I will tell them who he is._

_God has a plan for him yet. And so do I._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Tell me, Where did I go wrong? Everyone I loved, they're all gone. I'd do everything so differently, but I can't turn back the time. There's no shelter from the storm inside of me." No Way Out, Phil Collins


	10. Chapter 10

Part III: Overcome

~10~

It was all so clear now. He had been right. I had been wrong. I pulled people out of the frothing water and then scuppered the ship. I tried to take the Father from his flock and my friends suffered for it. All that I touched turned to dust. All that I dared to hold dear dissolved to ash. I was a monster. A killer. I knew only death. My hands were weapons. I took life because it was easy, the easiest way to solve my problems, or so I once thought. I knew now. The Father always knew. Not every problem could be solved with a bullet, he said. And _I_ was the bullet. And now I must listen to the Father, because he knew the truth, and my sole purpose on this earth had always been the purveying of violence. I was a tool. My friends died because I believed I was more than that. I thought I was a _hero_. They had been right. John, Jacob, and Faith, they had all been right. And if I'd left them alone, left their Gates untouched, hundreds of people could have survived the Collapse. Didn't matter that they would have suffered. They would have been _alive_. Burke only killed Virgil because I brought the marshal out of the Bliss. Pastor Jerome, Mary May and Nick were tortured because I pushed John's buttons. Eli Palmer and who knew how many Whitetails were gunned down because I'd allowed Jacob to turn me into a machine, when I saw the outcome a mile away but was too much of a coward to end it before it happened. After all that, I _still_ tried to arrest Joseph Seed, even though he gave me a second chance to walk away. I should have learned my lesson. Those of my friends who remained would have been safe in Joseph's care. Safe. Imprisoned, but _safe_. That's all that mattered. Freedom? Look what I did with _my_ freedom. I used it, lost control of it, then lost it entirely, taking it away from everyone else in the same stroke. Because of me, they were neither safe nor free. They were dead. And it was my fault.

My fault.

He said he forgave me. That he knew I was sorry, and would do anything to take it all back. But I didn't. I couldn't. I was unworthy of forgiveness. I didn't deserve a peaceful life or merciful death. I deserved only this living hell, where I dreamed of fire and endured every waking hour languishing over my sins. I would not eat. I scarcely slept. I suffered, as it was only fair. Only _right_. Joseph said I could make things right, but I didn't see how. I needed him to show me. I needed him.

I needed him.

* * *

Day 538

_I no longer recognize the man before me. Once, he held his head high. Once, he had the fire of heaven's forge fuelling his spirit. Then he found revelations, he realized the truth, and, as I foresaw, it destroyed him._

_His body mended with the aid of the Bliss, but his soul has been torn asunder and it is taking everything I have to keep him together. I was there for him when he had to purge the Bliss from his body again, through the convulsions and the sickness and the metaphysical torment. That had been many moons ago, and since then, the deputy...changed._

_He stopped eating. When I hounded him about it, he began avoiding me. When I sneaked up on him he would be mumbling to himself in the shadows, uttering 'no' and 'shut up' over and over, all the while hitting his head with a fist, rocking back and forth. I confronted him yesterday and he fawned like a beaten dog, then turned away from the food I tried to give him. I know it must be this way, and yet it bothers me for some reason. Hopefully, by putting my thoughts down realization will come to me._

_..._

_The dream visited me a third time last night. Only instead of devouring me, the black Snake coiled tightly around me, crushing me in the middle of the Garden. And as I fell into darkness, into the Abyss, I heard an infant screeching in pain._

_The sound tore at my soul, and I curled into a ball, covering my ears until the sound at long last abated. When I opened my eyes, I found myself at the feet of Jacob, who sat upon an unseen throne, arms on his knees and gazing down at me impassively._

" _He yet lives," he said._

" _He is a stronger man than you gave him credit for," said I. "And for that you died."_

" _But you are making the same mistake, brother." Jacob leaned back, shifted, then leaned forward again. A sourceless light cast his eyes in shadow. "He will be the death of you. One day. Look."_

_I turned and there was the deputy, but there was no child in his arms this time. I stood in anger._

" _Where is she?!"_

_He was covered in blood. Listing to the side, eyes sunken and hollow, limbs shaking. Yet his teeth were bared. Downed but not defeated. Smothered but not extinguished._

" _He took everything from you," said Jacob behind me. "A spineless sinner. Murdered our brother, our sister. Our family."_

" _He was in pain," I said._

" _Mercy is a weakness, Joseph."_

" _Is it?" I did not turn around. "Mercy is something you never understood. That does not make it a weakness."_

" _Three times he was in your grasp, and three times you let him go. We died because of those choices, brother."_

" _Every soul can be saved," I snapped, finally turning around. Jacob had vanished, but his voice remained._

 _"And what of_ your _soul, brother?"_

_Then, nothing._

_I faced Isaac again. He was still standing there, but my daughter was in his arms now. I approached slowly._

" _Please...Isaac..."_

_He held her close, guarded, as she mewled._

" _I'm sorry she died," I said. "A day does not go by that I don't wish to see her little face again."_

_The deputy locked eyes with me, seeming to relax his hold._

" _But it was for the good of all..." I held my hands out for her. "I don't regret my decision—"_

_It was true, but it was also a mistake to say. Isaac's hold on my child tightened again and he ran into the void._

_I woke up weeping. I wept for my baby, my life, my burden. I know I did the right thing, but that did not make it easier. Did not make the pain go away. Why, God, why was I given the cruellest of tests? A little life, so small, so helpless, sacrificed to prove my devotion to you. You stopped Abraham, but You didn't stop me._

_My dreams are my own. I should be able to control what happens. Then why did Isaac, the soldier, the killer, always keep my daughter from me? What did it mean? That Isaac wasn't yet fully under my control? Was Jacob really trying to warn me from beyond death, or was it my own subconscious doubts? I am no fool. The deputy is unstable and thus more unpredictable than ever before. But when he broke, he let me hold him. He begged for forgiveness._

_I should have kept up with my accounts. But I'm afraid I kept putting it off, and whatever I did get down the past few weeks was always forgotten, disjointed, or nonsensical. And, I confess, I have been spending so much time with Isaac that the new Word has lost its draw. No one, not my brothers, not my flock, not God, had ever listened to me like the deputy does now. It unsettles me, the way he stares so intently, clinging to my every word. I was able to tell him everything, about my trials growing up, the first time I heard the Voice, the day my blood father beat me for reading a comic book._

_After much prompting and encouragement, Isaac started to talk to me again, but this time, he opened up, as though to prove he was a human like any other. He told me about his family. A devote mother, taken by leukemia when Isaac was a child. A sturdy father, succumbing to booze and getting killed breaking up a bar fight before his son reached nineteen. A younger sister, who'd eloped and sent the occasional postcard from somewhere in the world..._

_He seemed to forget with whom he was talking, sometimes. Today he looked off into a past only he could see, speaking of the horrors he faced in the Middle East – watching children burn and soldiers blast each other to oblivion, ancient cities crumbling to dust all around him. And then he observed how, in becoming a junior deputy under Earl Whitehorse, he only brought himself in a circle. He had fought the same God only with a different name, a different following, this time in his own backyard._

_I listened. It was all I could do. I wanted to interrupt, to tell him he was wrong. That we were nothing like the heretical terrorists on the other side of the planet, that we were God's chosen and we were doing His will properly... But then I would have been proving his point. Every religion has its branches, and every branch believes it is the truth. And Isaac told me as much._

_It angered me. I know I'm doing God's will. I have heard the Voice since I was a child. I have seen the path He has set for us. I told Isaac this. He only nodded and said, "I know."_

_I asked him what he thought of me. Was I still a monster in his eyes? Did he see my ways as savage as those in the Middle East? Because I still saw him as an animal of violence. He was spawned from the darkest streak of humanity, bloodthirsty and warmongering. I could not blame him for it any more than I could blame a wolf for its fangs, but I cannot deny my contempt for his chosen path. Disposition or no, born under Mars or not, he could have chosen to open his fist in friendship rather than clench it in wrath. God put goodness in all his children, and it could grow, should the owning soul cherish it, nourish it, like a delicate seedling... Isaac was impassive during my spiel, but a line creased his brow just before he replied, "You...made...me."_

_And then, he stopped talking. It was as though he had said all he needed to say. I demanded that he tell me what he meant, to no avail. He picked up a pencil and scratched away at a piece of paper, ignoring me completely._

_He has never let me read any of his writing. But he is getting a look in his eye I do not like. It's not thirst. It's not hunger, for food or sensual pleasure. I cannot place it, and I worry for my child. He is sleeping at the moment, and I could use this time to seek out his written thoughts, but I cannot bring myself to. Not yet._

_He's having another nightmare. I will try to calm him without waking him._

* * *

I cracked open my third beer and turned on the bar stool, absorbing the taproom. Warmly lit, tuned by Bob Seger and smelling of booze and cigarettes and pepperoni, it was right cozy in 8-Bit Pizza. There was Sharky and Hurk Jr arguing by the stage, something about dynamite and monkeys. Nick Rye was deep in conversation with Grace Armstrong about baby clothes at a nearby table, and further down the bar Luke Lee was hitting on Jess Black.

"Used to hunt for a taxidermist," he said proudly. "Gave me a buck a squirrel."

Jess bit the cap off her beer bottle. "You don't say."

"And how are you doing, honey?"

I turned back around, facing the bar. Adelaide Drubman was refilling the pretzel basket, a tea towel over one shoulder, a rifle visible over the other. Maybe it was the light, but she looked cleaner and happier than I'd ever seen her. They all did. All my friends. Happy, healthy, carefree...

I opened my mouth but no words formed. Addie cocked an eyebrow.

"What's wrong, Dep? Peaches catch your tongue?"

I tried again, but all that came out was a hoarse grunt.

"Come on, Chief, speak up," said Luke from down the bar. Both he and Jess were staring at me. I made another coughing sound, panic welling in my chest.

"You, uh, you alright over there?" called Nick. I turned to him, wordlessly grunting. "Just nod for yes, shake for no."

Cough.

"You know, it's kinda rude leaving Auntie hanging," said Sharky. Everyone was staring at me now. Their faces were blank.

"I didn't talk until I was five years old, right, Mama?" said Hurk Jr.

"Mm hm," said Addie. "Your first word was 'dumbshit.'"

"It's not like he says much anyway," said Jess dismissively, but she did not take her eyes off me. "I just thought he was stupid."

Again I tried to speak. More wordless grunts. Their stares were becoming accusatory.

"Thinks he's the strong, silent type," said Grace, rolling her eyes.

"Has no trouble ordering me around, but when it comes to small talk? _Silencio,_ " Luke scoffed.

"My baby talks more and she's not even a year old." Nick pulled his sunglasses off. His eyes were strangely pale. Even as I stared, the others stood from their seats and came closer. All of their eyes were bleached.

"You know? I reckon Joseph Seed was right about you," said Nick.

"You thought you were better than us." Jess stabbed a throwing knife into the bar, knuckles white around the hilt. "Some kind of _hero_."

I tried to deny it, but my tongue still refused to work. I got to my feet as they all stepped closer in sync. My back pressed against the counter.

"You didn't help us 'cause you felt it in your soul, man," said Sharky. "You was being selfish."

"We were just safeguards to you," Luke agreed. "Someone to pull you to your feet when you _fucked_ _up_."

They were very close now. I saw a gap between Hurk Jr and the bar and tried to slide sideways through it, but Addie grabbed my shoulders from behind the counter, bubblegum-pink nails digging into my skin.

"Going somewhere, sugar?"

"Not gonna say a word in defence, are ya, partner?" said Nick. "So concerned about yourself you won't even wag your tongue at us."

"I say—" Jess stabbed the counter again. "Use it, or lose it."

"Or, abuse it." Addie's nails dug harder into my shoulders. "What _can_ you do with that tongue, sweetie?"

My next coarse effort to speak was the last straw. Grace and Nick grabbed either of my arms and hauled me away from the bar, Addie's nails leaving deep gouges in my skin. I struggled but their grips were stone and they easily slammed me down on a table, shattering beer glasses. Shards pierced my back, beer soaked my shirt, but my friends were impartial to my distress, pinning me down.

The hanging light was blinding, swinging back and forth over the table so that Nick's and Grace's faces alternated between silhouette and highlights. Their eyes were lost in Bliss. I tried to warn them, but all that came out was a choking cough.

"Stop making that sound," Sharky snapped. "You remind me of the cat I accidentally set on fire—which I didn't actually do."

I looked at each of their faces, pleading, but I was as bad as a Peggy in their eyes. Jess came to stand by my head, a glint of steel in her hand.

"You really are pathetic, aren't you?"

"Can't believe I ever thought you were cool enough to be in _my_ cult," said Hurk Jr, crossing his beefy arms.

"I used to think he'd make a good godfather to my kid," Nick scoffed. "Now I wouldn't trust him to protect a pile of dirt."

"Crappy shot, too," said Luke. "Couldn't tell ya how many times I pulled his fat out of the fire."

I struggled harder than ever, but then I remembered I hadn't eaten well for months. My body had shrunk, my clothes baggy. I was a bundle of twigs in a pillowcase. My friends were strong and whole and laughed at my feeble attempts to break free. The sound hurt more than the glass in my back.

"Not so tough now, are ya, Deputy?"

"The 'great American hero.'"

"Pathetic."

"Useless."

" _Worthless_."

The blade in Jess's hand glinted and my eyes were drawn to it. Her milky eyes revealed no emotion.

"Like I said. Use it—" She forced my jaw open and held the knife, blade down, over my mouth. "Or lose it."

"Stop."

The knife halted its cold descent. In unison my friends all looked over to a person I could not see but recognized nonetheless.

"There is no need for this," said Joseph Seed. "Please, release him."

They obeyed without hesitation, but I did not sit up.

"Your time is done. Go. Go," he said calmly, and they filed out, into the night. "God be with you."

Joseph came to stand by the table, looking down at me. He looked sad. Pitying. He put a hand to my head and stroked it gently. The wooden rafters above faded. I saw ducting and light bars and pipes.

"Sleep, Isaac. Find peace."

I fell into darkness and dreamed nothing.

* * *

Day 541

_Merciful Lord in heaven, why?_

_I walked in on Isaac today to find him slumped against the wall in the infirmary, blood pouring from his mouth, a knife limp in his grasp. I thought he had stabbed himself, but when I rushed to him, I saw the bloody mass in his other hand and took it, only to discover that it was flesh. The deputy had cut out his own tongue._

_Months ago I gave him the freedom to roam during the day, for he is no longer a threat to me. I did not know he was a threat to himself._

_He was so white, the blood so red. There was a needle hanging from the inside of his arm, an empty vial discarded nearby. I recognized it. The last of the Bliss. He tried to smile at me; it was grotesque. I asked him why, why did he do this? But of course, he could not reply. I knew I would find the answers in his journal pages, I just had to get my hands on them. The last time I tried, he had become aggressive, overly-protective, and I'd resolved to respect his privacy. But that was before he resorted to self-mutilation. First, I had to see to him. Judging by the mass he had removed, he'd not managed to take the entire tongue out, but just enough so that his speech would be ruined forever. So I punished him._

_I'm not proud of it. The deputy was not in his right mind, and might not be even now. Wilful silence had been surmountable but now that he can't speak, it makes me feel alone._

_He just took it. The punishment. It was as though he expected it and therefore accepted it. It was wretchedly unsatisfying, like kicking around a sack of meat. I hurt him all the more for it, wanting him to be himself, wanting him to fight back, wanting to see the Wrath return to his eyes. I think I saw it, a few times, but it always went away, replaced by triumph, or amusement, or some twisted mix of both. The rage I felt for the deputy for killing my brothers came to a head and I struck him and struck him until my fingers dislocated and he didn't ever once try to defend himself._

_He was barely conscious, slumping sideways along the wall, when I finally stopped. I stepped back from him, chest heaving, and saw what he'd written in blood on the wall over his head – 'Now I am your Angel.'_

_He was mocking me. My flock, my faith. I seized him by the hair. Knocking out his teeth would suffice, would teach him. The light was behind me. It cast a shadow against the wall. My shadow, with my hand raised, ready to strike. But I didn't see it as me. I saw it as my father, posed to punish me. And I didn't see the deputy kneeling before me, but a child accepting a fate he shouldn't have to. I lowered my hand, placing it gently on his head. He closed his eyes, and we prayed._

_I am the Father. I am the teacher. And yet Isaac is showing me a perspective I never truly understood – that of my enemies. I know he experienced loss in this war. I know every sinner lost friends and family resisting the Project. Isaac had always been willing to suffer to protect the ones he cared about, just like me. I see all people, even Isaac, as my children, my charges, my wards, and although I tell myself it had hurt to see them perish in their efforts to avoid salvation, I'm not sure it did, anymore._

_And now I see. I succumbed to sin. I am a man. I am weak. Isaac is truly the tempter, the Snake in the Garden, for he gave me a chance to show compassion and yet I chose punishment. Even I, God's prophet, can be blind and rash long enough to make the wrong choice._

_He is still at the kitchen sink, rinsing his mouth with salt water. He shudders in agony every time the fluid scours his ruined tongue. But he makes not a sound, not a single complaint. He'd removed his bloody shirt and it was soaking in the bathroom sink. My God, he is so skinny. I can count every rib from here, every ridge on his spine. I am the same, but seeing it on the man I've hated for so long fills me with yet another feeling I cannot describe or, perhaps, understand. It makes me want to feed him, to pity him like some mutt on the streets. But supplies are low. We'd emptied out both deep-freezes last month – the last of the moose meat was like leather, dry and tough, no matter what I tried, for it had been frozen for too long. Isaac hadn't seemed to mind. And he never complained when all we had left for meat was jerky. He always thanked me, whatever I brought him, and sometimes that would be the only time he spoke, for days at a time. Now, he won't be able to do even that._

_He's still in the Bliss. Done with the salt water cleansing he staggers past me, flopping on the couch and staring vacantly at the fish tank. Though all the fish are gone, I've left the tank full of water with the filter and lights on. Isaac likes it. And I admit it's a comforting sound._

_The blue light allows me to see WRATH tattooed on Isaac's chest. The work of my little brother. I never did get the full story on how he died. I only ever heard it from my flock – how the deputy was a dishonourable fighter, murdering John in cold blood when he was looking the other way. I want to believe that. I want to think Isaac was a dastardly coward, but every coin has two sides. And now I know both men well enough to construct my own rendering of the battle. They both fought valiantly and, for reasons known only to God, John fell. He had displeased our Lord. He, and Jacob and Faith. And He took them from me, using the pawn on the plaid couch before me._

_Yes. I believe Isaac is God's tool. How else could he have survived all that he had gone through? Several months ago the deputy told me of the battles he fought in, the trials he overcame, the people he helped all over Hope County. I almost didn't believe him. How could one man do all of that? Oh, he had help from the locals, one in particular he'd always been hesitant to talk about. A man called Luke Lee. There were other sinners too – the Rye family, the pastor of Fall's End, Eli Palmer and his Whitetails. I knew a lot of them. I had some of them under my control on the day of the Collapse. God had given me their will, and they would have died for me..._

_Isaac caught me staring. I held his gaze for almost a minute, and then he smiled dopishly. I should have hidden the Bliss better._

_My knuckles had split when I punished him, and bleed even as I write this. They will heal. The damage to my soul, however, will take much longer to repair. My forearm, too, bleeds, and it will bleed and hurt until I remember who I am; I have cut a new sin into my flesh. And I shall press the wound to this page for you all to see, my family, for I had allowed this new sin to posses me:_

_WRATH_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "And if the night is burning, I will cover my eyes, for if the dark returns then my brothers will die. And as the sky's falling down, it crashed into this lonely town, and with that shadow 'pon the ground I hear my people screaming out! Now I see fire inside the mountain. I see fire burning the trees. And I see fire hollowing souls. I see fire, blood in the breeze." I See Fire, Ed Sheeran


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excerpt of Joseph's Journal at the end of the chapter is from Far Cry New Dawn.

~11~

Day 1459

_Tomorrow will be the fourth anniversary of the Collapse. We are more than two thirds of the way through our food supply, and now we only eat every third day. When I feed him, the deputy takes the food and scurries off, as though terrified I might take it back. I don't blame him. Some days I want to take it from him. It's the hunger. It is a savage, guileful beast, weaving sinful thoughts into my head. The demons that had once possessed Jacob now come for me. Surely God forgives me. Isaac already served his purpose, and because he can no longer talk he might as well be a dumb animal..._

_I had to break from writing, to regain control of myself. Though I am ashamed I am not so proud as to not continue to lay out everything on my mind. Besides, I know Isaac is having the same thoughts about me. How I would do him better by sustaining him, even for a few days. I've seen the way he looks at me. Just like Jacob's wolves, starved to the point of looking ready to gnaw off their own paws._

_But we are not wolves. Well, I'm not. The deputy... When I tell him to leave, he leaves. When I tell him to fetch me something, he fetches it without a fuss. When I tell him to pray, he at least closes his eyes and holds still for a few minutes. It took years but he has finally come to understand who he is. Because of his actions, because of his inborn need to judge, countless people died. It was his fault._

_Despite my guidance his soul is lacerated and his spirit is broken. He still screams at night, wordless and harrowing. A couple years ago I gave him permission to sleep on his own bed in the barracks, which he did, at first. But as the months passed, I began to find him at the foot of my bed every morning, bundled up on the floor. Even when I ordered him to stay in his own room, back he'd be again, although there were times when he woke up looking confused, as though he couldn't remember moving there._

_I found another bundle of papers today, this time stashed behind the stack of angle iron lengths near the entrance to the bunker. Isaac's ramblings. Though sometimes disjointed, too messy to decipher or unsettling to read, they give me a good insight to the deputy's state of mind. He'd taken to writing of his own accord years ago, and I encourage it. Not only will it help him organize his thoughts, it will – God willing – help retain what little sanity remains. When I find his stashes, it is almost like having a conversation with him. It is almost Confession._

_Still, it is with slight guilt that I read his words. A man's mind is his last sanctuary, after all. But I am a concerned parent, and if he really doesn't want me to find them, he would hide them better._

_I shall take note here an excerpt of what he has written._

...Losing my mind. Forgetting hours of the day. I haven't been waking up where I go to sleep. The world is a diagonal. I am the balancing point. _(He has crossed this out.)_ And I've been seeing things. Yesterday I was having a long conversation with Hurk Sr about gerrymandering until I realized, not only had I been staring at the hot water tank for over an hour, I had been making grunting sounds trying to talk to the hot water tank...

_I have seen and heard him do this a few times but I always left him alone. What else could I do? It kept him calm and seemed to be a pass time he enjoyed. Now I see that it concerns him, yet he has never taken the issue to me, his Father. But no matter. I will help him the next time I see him trying to talk to inanimate objects._

_Here is another page. It is filled with sketches of butterflies. They're beautiful. At the bottom of the page is a single word – 'Soon.'_

_I'll fold his pages back up and return them to their hiding place behind the steel rack. There is only so far I will delve and divulge in a day, and as long as he doesn't suspect me finding the pages, I can always go back for them again._

_I have yet to find the page that will tell me why he cut out his tongue._

* * *

_Easy...easy..._

With hands that shook I gently leaned two cards against each other. Not daring to breathe, I pulled my hands away slowly so a draft wouldn't waft my house of cards down. There. A third tier complete.

I sat back, proud of myself. I've never had the patience for shit like this before. It had taken me weeks of practice to accomplish this much in a single afternoon. And even with hunger tugging at my hand muscles like marionette strings, I'd finally managed to beat my own record.

I enjoyed the sight for a while. Then I reached for two more cards to add to the bottom layer. Why not try to add a forth? Got nothing better to do. And it kept me focused on something other than—

My hands spasmed, and everything fell down.

—the Collapse.

I stared despondently at my flattened achievement. But I could fix it. Joseph said all I had to do was try. And so I would try.

There was a kink in my neck from being hunched over. I sat back, stretching, gazing around the barracks. It looked empty now that all the food once stored in here had been eaten or moved into the armoury, which remained locked at all times – me and Joseph both agreed it was for the best. The secondary deep freezer in here was also empty, the lid up even though the ice had melted long ago. The desk in front of me, draped with the stars 'n' stripes, was heaped with the books I'd taken to reading. Not much of a bookworm but one can only make so many card houses in one day. And sometimes, the story was good enough for me to escape my own head, where always, there was the constant, nagging feeling of—

_Shut up, shut up, shut up!_

I screwed my eyes closed and pressed my hands into my temples.

_Think of something else. Think, think, think, think..._

I bit down on what remained of my tongue and the pain was enough to draw me out of the whirlpool. I then seized up two cards and began to rebuild.

_Rebuild._

I had managed to lean six cards together when there was a click, a clunk, and then sudden darkness. I froze like a bird, heart clenching with the sound of the air supply shutting down.

"Isaac!"

I ducked my head. I didn't do anything!

Joseph's voice had come from somewhere down the hall. I felt my way to the wall and stood up. There was a flashlight on the armchair. The door opened as I retrieved it, and Joseph came in with an electric lantern in one hand and a toolbox in the other.

"You alright?"

Once, I would have I scowled at him. It seemed impudent now. I nodded, docile.

"The generator failed. Come, I need your help."

I clicked the flashlight on and followed without a fuss. There would be enough air for days down here but I'd rather not build houses of cards in the dark and I like not freezing my ass off.

The generator was in the second passage from the bunker's main entrance. Joseph set the lantern down and opened the toolbox, pulling out a screwdriver which he used to remove a service panel. He stared at the mess of switches and wires inside, then looked to me. I knew what to do.

He stayed with me, either for support or to babysit, I wasn't sure. I didn't mind. It took me a while – not quite the same as tinkering with cars – but I finally got the generator running again. Joseph said we needed to be more careful on our power consumption, for our fuel supply was now very low. I just nodded. I already knew that. Since last year we'd been relying more on candles and flashlights, piling on extra clothing instead of turning up the heat, and enduring cold showers. I didn't complain. Had nothing to complain about. I was, after all, the cause for all this. Because I—

_No! Shut up, shut up, shut UP!_

The rattle of tools jostled me from my head. Joseph was closing the toolbox. He stood and I took it – he would want me to put it away.

"Thank you, Isaac."

I made a grunting sound, bobbing my head before shuffling off. I liked pleasing Joseph. It just seemed right, after all that had happened.

I think I'll write this day down. I pleased Joseph. It's been a good day.

* * *

Day 1584

_I had to help Isaac out of the shower again. I heard him fall, too weak to catch himself when the floor of the stall got slippery with soap. I've told him to sit when he showers but he doesn't listen. The ghost of his Pride. He didn't appear hurt, this time._

_I try not to blame myself, or God, for our situation. Even the knowledge that God's love sustains us cannot crush the bitterness I feel whenever I see Isaac, a husk of the healthy soldier he once was. Why? This is what I wanted. What He wanted. The Soldier, the purveyor of violence, he-who-clenches-his-fist finally brought low, smote from his high horse. Not just Isaac himself, but men like him, cowed all over the world, finally made to see..._

_Suddenly I recall some of the last words Isaac ever spoke. "You made me." I thought it was a foreshadowing of his self-amputation, that I was making him cut out his own tongue. But now I believe he meant something else. Me, a man of God, making Isaac. Making him a man of violence. My actions begot his. His war stories, of which there were plenty, come back to me now. He fought religious terrorism on the other side of the world. Would he have ever been there if not for the extremist leaders who'd dared to call themselves God's devoted?_

_Yes. Humans make war. That's what they do. If not those leaders, then something else would have called Isaac to take up arms..._

_Such was the heretical thought that entered my head upon writing that. It makes my faith seem hollow. A frail shell. Isaac told me he saw religion as an excuse, a scapegoat, and a façade. A means to an end._

_I pity him._

_I put Isaac's words and stories from my mind. I must focus on the future. What is God's plan now? It isn't unusual for years to go by without me hearing His Voice. But surely, surely He would have granted me guidance by now. In a thousand days, Isaac and I will be at last free to leave this bunker and witness the rebirth of our home. Why has God not shown me what else is to come?_

_I must pray. I will fast and I will ask for guidance. It was always through periods of suffering that I heard the Voice, and though I suffer now, I can suffer more. And the food I don't eat will only benefit Isaac._

* * *

A past version of me would be shocked: I was deeply concerned for Joseph.

I was thrilled to get more food, and took it without question. Because I ate alone, I did not notice, at first, that the extra portion came from Joseph's plate.

It was the third meal like this. After squirrelling it in the barracks, I went back into the kitchen to get water, and saw that Joseph hadn't served himself anything. He looked surprised and even guilty at my unexpected reappearance, and he understood the question I could not ask. He just smiled at me and said, "Do not worry, Isaac. Everything is going to be fine."

I retrieved the food and tried to give it to him. Stood there holding it under his nose. I wasn't hungry anymore.

"If you are not going to eat it, put it back," he said.

I continued to stand there, stubborn. It was my first time defying him in a long while. Not sure how I felt about it. He started to look angry.

"Isaac—"

I grunted and pushed it at him. He pushed it back. I pushed it again. He stood, towering over me. I held my ground, a diminished yet familiar fire burning in my guts. I was alright taking orders from him. But this was _food_. He _needed_ to eat.

His fists were clenched, shaking, from hunger or anger I didn't know. I was afraid – I guess I didn't like defying the Father – but I would not back down without an explanation. Surely Joseph wasn't giving up?

 _Save the Father_ , Faith had told me. _Save the Father._

Joseph closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. When he exhaled, he looked at me with kinder eyes.

"I know you do not understand. But it has to be this way for just a little longer. Do not worry, I am not leaving you. Please. Just trust me."

I gazed at him for a few more seconds, then backed down, looking away. He put his hands on my shoulders, and the last of the dread seemed to leach from my body.

"Pray with me."

I closed my eyes. I never really understood this part. Couldn't wrap my head around any usefulness about it. But I hoped my pleading thoughts that the Father be okay would be enough.

* * *

Day 1596

_After days of fasting and prayer I have heard the Voice again. And I have seen what is to come, and the face of the one who will shepherd Eden when I am gone. It was not a face I recognize. It did not look like me, so it is not my child of blood, but this soul will be my child just as all are my children._

_I will leave my Word here when I go, and when it is returned to Eden, that is when we will manifest our destiny._

_God has not shown me what that will be, but I have faith it will be what is right._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "'Fools,' said I, 'You do not know silence, like a cancer, grows. Hear my words that I might teach you. Take my arms that I might reach you.' But my words, like silent raindrops fell, and echoed in the wells of silence." The Sound of Silence, Simon and Garfunkel


	12. Chapter 12

~12~

Day 1775

_I am not even sure if I have kept an accurate count of the days anymore. "Day" doesn't mean anything, hasn't meant anything, for a long time. I am as lost as a sinner. A blind man in a world without a sun. There is no sun. No life. Nothing but darkness._

_Nothing._

* * *

Found Joseph in the Red Room.

I was wandering the bunker aimlessly, humming a tune I'd forgotten, chewing on a pencil until I could taste graphite at the back of my mouth, when I heard a soft sound. I stopped, an animalistic twinge pulling my ears, as though they were perking. Heard the sound again, a brief intake of air, but stifled. I looked down the passage at the door to the Red Room, Dutch's intel den. It wasn't red anymore because Joseph had changed the bulbs, but it was still the Red Room to me. Still the room where I learned my destiny, where I made my first wrong choice of many.

I pushed the door open. The lights were off. The glow from the hallway ghosted past me, casting my shadow on the far wall. Joseph was huddled at the foot of it, beneath the map of Hope County, knees up to his chest, arms tucked in and head bowed. His bare toes curled at my intrusion. I shifted to the side, and he shrank from the light. He raised his head. I could only stare at the wetness on his cheeks, his swollen eyes, the snot under his nose. Couldn't say how long he'd been like that. Only that it was the first time I'd seen him so...broken.

"H-h...how...?" His feet slid forward an inch, pulling his knees away far enough to free his arms, which were cradling a tiny bundle. "How can...?"

I stepped closer, wary, concerned. Scared.

Joseph's breath shook so badly it was like his very core had frozen. "How can you even _look_ at me?" He sobbed, pressing his eyes into his knees. I looked to the bundle in his hands, held up like an offering to me. It was just that. A bundle. His shirt and some rags. Wrapped and knotted together until it looked like...like...

"My child," Joseph mewled. And he wasn't talking about me. "My little one. My own flesh and blood..."

I sat on my rear before him, hands around my knees, fingers linked. And I waited.

He raised his head again. His hair, so long and unkempt, framed a gaunt, bearded face. A face, once so full of power and certainty, now a mess of snot and tears and regret. Didn't like seeing him this way. _He_ was the strong one. He was the Father.

"She had a name... Did I ever tell you that? My wife and I, we named our little girl, together. Before she was born." He sniffled wetly. Swallowed what had ended up in his throat. "But she had two n-names. Eliza is what we named her. But when...when she was brought into the world from the broken body of my wife and I saw her for the first time...she was Eden." Joseph's eyes gleamed a bit brighter. "She was hope. She was the future. She was the promise of a better life." And then they welled with fresh tears, fingers closing tightly around the bundle until they shook. " _And God took her away from me._ "

He threw the bundle across the room. I flinched as though it had been a living thing. Perhaps it was the look on my face, but Joseph started crying anew, shaking like a leaf. His skull cracked against the wall as he looked up. His Adam's Apple bobbed in his throat.

"I killed her. I killed Eden. I gave her to God because He promised. He _promised._ I have done _everything_ He asked of me. That is _all_ I have ever done. But no matter what I give He always takes. Just _takes_ and _takes_ and now I have nothing, _nothing_ left!" Again and again he smacked his head, the sickening crack of skull on concrete sending jolts through my spine. "My family! My flock! But _you!_ " A shaking hand pointed between my eyes. "He spared _you!_ The snake! The demon! The harbinger of hell!"

I tensed, ready to stand if need be. Wanted to leave but something...something made me stay, even as grief morphed to rage before my eyes. His gaze was wild, spit flying from his lips as he jabbed his finger at me again and again. For the first time in years I was afraid of him.

"You are _nothing_. You are _nobody_. You sit there, breathing a life that doesn't belong to you! You don't mean anything to anybody!" Joseph was getting angrier the more I stared, and yet I couldn't look away. His hands splayed on the floor on either side of him; I winced as his nails ripped and grated against the concrete.

"It could have been Jacob. It could have been John. But it is _you_. God put me down here with you and all you can do is _stare at me!_ "

I recoiled, scrambling back as he pounced but then he was on top of me, grabbing me, pinning me down. A knee on my gut, all his weight on my core. His hands were scrabbling for my neck and I fought back, trying to kick him off. We were both weak, husks of once strong men, but he had height on me, and anger, and before I knew it I was seeing the world through bleary vision. Both of Joseph's hands were around my throat. They were like sandpaper. And they were squeezing the life from me as they'd done his daughter.

"I gave my all!" Joseph roared. His eyes blazed with black fire, spittle spraying across my face. My arms thrashed like landed fish, trying to find something to use as a weapon, but the floor was clear so I grabbed at Joseph instead, struggling to make a sound. All that escaped was a gargle, which the Father immediately silenced with a tighter squeeze. His words dripped with poison, heedless to my soundless plea for mercy.

 _Joseph, please_...

"And you, _you_ are all He gave me in return. You pathetic wretch. You insect. You locust in my Garden! I should have left you to the Flame! Let your soul _burn_ with the old world. Instead God saddled me with you, because...because..."

He either trailed off, or I was too far gone to hear. My limbs were lead and my heart was a dying bird in my neck, fluttering weakly against the cage of Joseph's fingers. But then...his hold didn't seem so tight, and I heard him from the other end of a tunnel.

"Because you are my last test," he said, to himself. "You are Isaac. The son God spared."

His hands left my throat, gliding down my chest as he sat back on his haunches. It took a second for my windpipe to unstick itself and open up, allowing life back into my lungs. It tasted of fire and I coughed coarsely, face like a brand, tongue jutting out to make room for more air. I writhed on the floor until my head stopped spinning and my breathing eased. I sat up, eyes only on Joseph, who had retreated back against the wall. Cowering. From me.

He raised his hands as though to defend himself. "Shh...shh..."

My face had contorted into a snarl, lip curled back over gritted teeth, eyes predatory. The last thing every Peggy had seen before dying by my hand. A murderous, desperate, hate-filled look. And it stayed there for several seconds, a part of me as much as Wrath, ingrained as any tattoo. But fade it did, and I was back to staring at Joseph. Only this time, it was accusatory.

Thought we were past this. Thought we had come to an understanding. Two extremes come together to balance in the middle, bonded by mutual respect and a similar goal. By the look on his face, Joseph had thought so too. But he had betrayed himself.

He started to sob again. "How can you even look at me?" He curled up, scrawny, scarecrow legs shielding him from his guilt.

This was not the first time he'd attacked me in anger. I had every right to attack him now. A feeling I had not experienced in years had awoken deep inside. The primitive drive to kill in order to survive. But...I was not that man anymore. Not really. I had learned from experience and Joseph's teachings that relying on violence as a means to an end was one of the reasons why we were down here in the first place. Joseph knew this, because _he_ had learned that the hard way as well.

I couldn't undo my choices anymore than he could bring his daughter back, or his brothers, sister. His flock. The countless civilians he had put to death, hanging them from bridges and power poles and stuffing their insides with Bliss. All we could do now was make better choices. And it started with me.

I approached Joseph slowly, crawling on all fours. He cowed, one arm up to fend me off. I slid up against the wall beside him, watched the trembling in his bare shoulder and back, sinew tugging and relaxing beneath pale flesh. Touched him and he flinched as though I'd scalded him. I took his wrist, thin as a winter twig, and pulled gently. He struggled, but as he had persisted when I fought his Project, I persisted now, drawing him around until he was in my arms, huddled to my chest rather than the cold wall. His tears soaked through my shirt.

"I am a monster," he whimpered. Unable to speak, I held him tighter. Mental images of long lost friends gazed at me in confusion, or looked away in disgust. But their judgment meant nothing to me. The man I held was not the same man I fought those few years ago. He was different. I was different. And I needed his guidance like he needed my anchoring and protection.

I wished I could tell him what he _did_ was monstrous, and he had tried to do the right thing, just, the wrong way. The fact he was feeling regret and pain proved he was not a monster, just a child in the dark like everyone else. I couldn't tell him, but I could show him. I would help him forgive himself, even if I couldn't forgive myself.

 _Save the Father,_ Faith had said. _Save the Father._

Couldn't say how long we sat there, but I was so used to sitting on hard, cold surfaces it didn't really bother my ass anymore. Joseph fell asleep, and the old, impatient streak inside me couldn't help but fill me with exasperation. So I imagined instead I was out in the middle of nowhere, nothing but me and the trees, waiting for the eight point to return to the river to drink. Of course, that just reminded me of a perfectly seasoned venison steak, tenderized in buttermilk, grilled to medium rare and lightly charred and served with scalloped potatoes and corn on the cob and an ice-cold 'weiser—

My stomach growled, jolting me from the brink of sleep. Woke Joseph too, and to my surprise, he chuckled.

"You must be hungry." He sniffled, cleared his throat, but didn't move. I made a coarse grunting sound in response, hoping he'd take the hint and scoot. But he seemed to like this arrangement. Having lost so much body mass, it was hard to keep warm, and he never really kicked the habit of wandering around without a shirt.

And like hell I was going to admit I was kind of enjoying the feeling of another human body pressed against mine, even though it was his.

I thought he might have dozed off again, but then his stomach growled too and he pulled away from me.

"Come. We shall eat."

He helped me stand, and it was like none of this had happened. We spent the rest of the day together, him bolstered by my forgiveness, me encouraged by his clemency. Our journey was still long before us, but we would make it, because we didn't walk it alone.

* * *

Day 1776

_GOD FORGIVE ME_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Well you look like yourself, but you're somebody else only it ain't on the surface. Well you talk like yourself—No, I hear someone else though, now you're making me nervous...I saw the part of you that only when you're older you will see, too. You will see, too..." You're Somebody Else, Flora Cash


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. Goodbye.  
> Disclaimer: A couple bits are written notes from Far Cry New Dawn.
> 
> "Put to rest what you thought of me while I clean this slate with the hands of uncertainty. So let mercy come and wash away what I've done. I'll face myself to cross out what I've become. Erase myself and let go of what I've done." What I've Done, Linkin Park

~13~

Hiding. Huddled beneath the table in the barracks. Hunger, a constant companion, clawing at my insides with blunt talons. The world is a diagonal. I am the balancing point. Crumpled papers between my hands crackled, threatening to give me away. But I heard no footsteps. Good. Good good good.

I flattened the papers out on the floor, staring in semi-darkness. They were mine, but I couldn't remember writing on them.

_You are weak._

Over and over and over. In pencil, different sizes, all over, sometimes written so vigorously the paper had ripped.

_You are weak._

Flipped through them. Page after page after page. All the same. Same same same. A voice not heard forever but never forgotten whispered it in my ear.

_You are WEAK._

Even now the fear of a dead man came through. But so did the anger. I seized all of the papers, shaking. Teeth clenched.

_I am weak. But you are dead._

I ripped them in half.

_You had no place in the new world._

I ripped them again.

_Not in the world Joseph wants to create._

And again.

_Not in the world we will create together._

I dropped the shreds of paper on the ground. White confetti. Petals of Bliss.

_Together._

I wrapped my arms around myself, tucked and hidden beneath the table. Safe and sound. Alone.

Not alone. Never alone.

Reached into the neck of my ragged pull-over, the grey one with a stained hole in the gut, and drew out a single sheet of lined paper, folded and refolded countless times. Unfolded it one more time. On it were three sketched faces.

Hudson. Pratt. Whitehorse.

I gazed at them, a lead bar in my gut. I closed my eyes. I didn't pray. Couldn't pray. But I could wish them well, wherever they were. I tapped my finger on the floor, once for each of them.

One. Two. Three.

When I left my hidey-hole, I left their images there. Maybe one day someone would find them. Wonder who drew them. Wonder who they were. There wasn't much I could do to immortalize my long gone friends, but I didn't need their pictures to remember them. They were with me, all of them, friends and enemies, and I screamed for them in my sleep, and I cried over them in the dark, and I saw them every time I looked into Joseph's eyes.

I wanted more than anything to see them again. Any of them, just to prove it hadn't all been a lie. That there had once been a world out there. That there were more than just two souls left on a wounded planet.

But no. No no no, it could never be. They could never see me. No one could. It's my fault. Joseph said there was a chance some had survived, but even if he spoke the truth, they were better off never seeing my face again...

* * *

Day 2346

_The day I have yearned for and dreaded has come. Long ago I had rationed our food, dividing our supplies into weekly portions. And we are down to our last week. The remnants of the previous weeks' was divided this morning, the last spoonful of the last can of tuna, and I watched with remorse as Isaac picked up every minuscule crumb off his plate and looked at me hopefully. I hadn't the heart to tell him._

_Nearly seven years. In a few months the world should be safe enough to roam again. But we will have to emerge early, before we are too weak to attempt it. I have faith God will give us strength but am not so foolish as to believe He will do the work for us. Since Isaac's escape attempt five years ago, I had not dared to open the hatch to the outside world, lest I anger our Lord, so I can only hope life has risen from the ashes as promised..._

_Forgive me. I know there is life. We have done everything God asked of us, and now we may start anew._

_No more internet. No more electricity. No cars, no guns, no refrigeration. No factories, government, currency, or borders. No cellphones. We will raise our children as our parents should have raised us – as one with the land, just like our ancestors. The world has been purged of sin but sin is like rot. It will always return, so long as there are human souls on this planet. Materialistic luxuries, conveniences, and valuables all lead to the same self-destructive path. The bane of empires, the scourge of civilizations. They always have, and they always will. Our only hope is to return to the time where such temptations were absent, where everything is worked for and earned and nothing, nothing is taken for granted._

_I look to Isaac, sketching on scrap pieces of paper at his usual spot, on the floor by the footboard. He is already a skilled woodsman. The bow is his weapon of choice and he is adept at using the land to his advantage, as he did when he sought to dismantle all that my family and I had created. Now that he is one of us, he will be an invaluable asset. Jacob's hunters, should any yet survive, will also prove useful. They will be our guardians, the protectors of New Eden. And as I wander the land our family will grow, with old faces and new, and all will be as God planned..._

_Again I look to the deputy. I think about all he had done. What he did still tears at him, tears ever deeper into the festering, poisoned wound that has replaced his heart. I have forgiven him but he has not forgiven himself. He believes he is beyond salvation, no matter what I tell him. These final two years have pushed him over the brink. A man of fire, of hot blood, a spirit stuck in high gear should never be kept underground, starved, deprived of sunlight. It is a wonder he had not lost his mind sooner, but as I have God to keep my sanity, Isaac has me. Not only as a companion, but as a lamb of his own._

_No, I have not forgotten what he did for me that day. When I attacked him a second time, bringing him within an inch of his life after I, albeit briefly, lost my way. Never had my faith so devastatingly wavered. And yet, Isaac came to me, sat with me, opened his fist and showed me the love and mercy I have given him from the beginning._

_I changed that deputy. And that deputy changed me._

_I watch as he stands, leaving his papers there in his corner and shuffling out of the room. I can see his sketches from here. But I can also see a scrawled note. Curiosity is not a sin, and yet I feel sullied as I stand to retrieve it._

_I shall copy his words here, exactly as written so that you, my family, may learn what this man has become._

You know. You know best. God tells you. If I listen to you, it's good, and right, and I can help, and I can save people, and make it right, and everything will be okay. If I judge as your judge the judgment is right and just, the judgment is God's Word. I see now. I am so sorry. Please give me a mask I am afraid. No one can know me. Please let me be reborn like the world, cleansed of sin and new, and I will fight to cleanse the sin. Thank you Joseph thank you Father.

_When I next looked up, Junior Deputy Isaac Crowford stood in the doorway, staring at me. Not in anger, fear, or shame. He wanted me to find this. Had waited for it. He came and knelt before me, shaking. I put my hand on his head, and that was answer enough for him._

_..._

_If you have not yet met my Judge, you will know when you do. I made him a mask, carved it with my own two hands. I cut it from the kitchen table using the tools left by the builder of this bunker, carved and shaped it with kitchen knives, and then painted it white. It took many days, but my Judge was patient and left me to it, not complaining of hunger, not seeking comfort. And when I presented the mask to him, he wept._

* * *

I can't think, I'm getting hungry

we need to go topside soon but I'm terrified

I think I did the right thing

I want to do the right thing now

he says he forgives me but I can't

I don't know if I did the right thing

I don't understand and all he gives me is the Word.

My hand shook as I dropped my last pencil, ground to a stub that cramped my hand. My breathing was loud in the mask, moisture dripping from the bottom. I was afraid. Joseph said it was time. Said we had to go now. We had very little food and we had no choice.

Choice, choice, there was always a choice. I chose. I chose and look what happened. I did this. I chose to defy the Father, I chose to kill my friends, I chose to kill the county. And I couldn't fix it. I couldn't put it back together. I could only hide here, underground. I would not choose again. I would listen to the Father, and the Father alone. He knew, he knew what was right and so if I did as he said all would be fine. Fine fine fine.

I looked about the bedroom, lit by candles. The walls were filled with pages. Some from me. Most from the Father. Copies or rejects from the Word. The world is a diagonal. I am the balancing point. All would be left here when we go. The Father said he would leave the bound Word as well, because someone one day was destined to find it. I didn't understand. How could he preach without his Word? But he told me to have faith in him, and I did. I really, really did.

I did wrong. But I would make things right. I was no longer Isaac, the deputy, the rookie. I was Joseph's Judge, and would be so until my dying breath. I would defend him and his until I could no more. And then my soul would be cleansed, and I would die in peace, and all would be right...

The Father came for me, without uttering a sound told me it was time. I stood, sticking my last note on the wall. Didn't know why – I burned most of my scribbles because of my shame. Because it was the past and I was leaving the past behind, where it belonged. I had a new face, so no one would know me, for how could any of them forgive me?

The Father said he forgave me, a thousand times and more. As I trailed out of the bedroom after him, I clung to that thought like a lead, and didn't look back. Even if I couldn't forgive myself, maybe he forgave me enough for both of us.

Every step felt like a shed anchor, a dropped chain link, a weight cast from my body. We passed the barracks, the armoury, the red room. The stacks of barren shelves, the heaps of discarded trash. The living room and kitchen with its empty fish tank and worn furniture. We paused at the lockers and piled on extra clothes, and the Father picked up two backpacks of supplies, handing one to me. I shouldered mine, he shouldered his. Then he took the lead again, passing the silent generator and furnace, the extra ducting and steel rack and chemical showers. And then we were going up the stairs, to the hatch. There, he paused and turned to me.

"Welcome, my child, to Eden's Garden."

He opened the hatch, and together, we rose into the new dawn.

**£ŋð**


End file.
